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MEMORIES OF A 
RED-LETTER SUMMER. 



:i~IXne- ELEANOR fCHILDS) MEEHAN. 






■&& 



-mw- 



CINCINNATI: 

THP: ROBERT CLARKI-: COMPANY. 

1903. 






Copyright, 1903, by 
Blkanok Childs Mbbhan. 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

AUe t5 f90§ 

Copyright Entry 



CUAS^ 

COPY B, 



^ XXft No 
^ 53 



PRESS OF THE KOBBBT CliARKE OO. 
OINOINNATI, U. S. A. 



gleMcation. 



ON THE SHRINE ERECTEL) IN MY HEART OF HEARTS 

TO THE MEMORY OF MY BEI.OVED PARENTS 

I LAY THIS LITTLE TRIBUTE 

OF GRATITUDE AND AFFECTION. 



CONTENTS, 



CHAPTER I. P.^GE 

Our .\rri\al in England i 

CHAPTER n. 
\\'i;si\\nNSTER Abbey 1 1 

CHAPTER HI. 
The Tower oe London 30 

CHAPTER IV. 

London 47 

London Streets and Footsteps of Dickens — British 
Museum. 

CHAPTER V. 

London to Scotland 57 

Shakespeare's Home — Ancient ]\Ionasterics — Edin- 
burgh — Rosslyn Castle — Sir Walter Scott — Mel- 
rose Abbey — Robert Burns 

CHAPTER VI. 

London to 1ki;i. \.\d 79 

Dublin — O'Connell — Emmet — Olasnevin — Drog- 
heda — Cromwell — Froude — Father Tom Burke. 

(V) 



VI Contents. 

CHAPTER VII. PAGE 

Irei^and 98 

Parsonstown, or Birr — Lord Rosse's Telescopes — ■ 
Irish Character — Killarney — Innisfallen — Tom 
Moore — ^ Glengarifife. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Ireland to France; 118 

Cork — ■ Blarney Castle — Shandon Bells — Gerald 
Griffin — Returning to London — Leaving England 

— Paris — Cemeteries — Exposition — Versailles — 
Fontainebleau. 

CHAPTER IX. 
France and BeIvGium 142 

Lourdes — Antwerp — Rubens — Quentin Matsys — 
Brussels — Waterloo — Cologne — The Dom — St. 
Ursula. 

CHAPTER X. 

The Rhine and Switzerland 157 

On the Rhine — Ruined Castles ^- Lorelei — Bingen 

— Lucerne — Interlaken — Mt. St. Bernard — His- 
toric Associations. 

CHAPTER XL 
Switzerland and Germany 175 

Geiieva — Castle of Chillon — Return to Germany — 
Neuenahr — Strasburg — Black Forest — Freiburg — 
Munich. 

CHAPTER XII. 
Oberammergau 186 

Oberammergau and the Passion Play — Innsbruck. 



Contents. VI I 

CHAPTKR XIII. P^Gg 

Italy 206 

Italy — Verona — Venice — Si. Mark's — Padua — St. 
Anthony's Shrine — Florence — ^lichacl Angelo — 
The JNlisericordians — Galileo — Dante. 

CHAPTER XIV. 
R( ).M !•: 232 

Rome — The Forum — Coliseum — St. Peter's — 
Domine, Quo Vadis — Catacombs — Year of Jubilee 
— Golden Door — Papal Audience — Leo XIII. 

CHAPTER XV. 
Italy to Glr.maxy — Rkturx Ho^rI•; 271 

Naples — Vesuvius — Capri — The Blue Grotto — 
Pompeii- — Customs of People — Return through St. 
Gothard Tunnel — Pisa — Milan — To Germany — 
Last Days on the Continent — Sailing — Captain's 
Dinner — Farewell — Home. 



LLUSTRATIONS. 



PAGE 

Grape Gatherer Frontispiece 

Band on Steamer Deck 2 

Steerage Passengers 10 

Coronation Chair, \\"estminster Aobev 13 

Stratford on An'On 57 

Shakespeare's Home, Stratford on Avon 58 

Anne Hathaway's Cottage, Stratford on Avon. 60 

.Mary, Queen of Scots 68, 

" Hoot, Mon " 76 

Famous Rosse Telescope, Birr, Ireland 98 

Irish Jaunting Car and Cabin 108 

Corner in Muckross Abbey, Ireland 112 

Blarney Castle 118 

His Democratic Highness 128 

Grotto of Lourdes 142 

Familiar Scene in Belgium 149 

The Mouse Tower on the Rhine 159 

Restored Castle of Riiicixstein, on tiii'. Iviiimc. . 160 

On the Axenstrasse, SwitzivRlaxd 167 

Hospice of Mt. St. Bernard 168 

Swiss Cottagers 173 

Castle of Chillon, S\vn/i:Ri,Axi) 176 

(IX) 



X Illustrations. 

PAGE 

LiNDERHOP, Bavaria 192 

One of the palaces of the " Mad King." 

View from the Passion Pi^ay at Oberammergau, 

Christ Entering Jerusalem 194 

Statue oe King Arthur 204 

One of the twenty-eight bronze statues surrounding 
the tomb of the Emperor Maximilian I. in the Hof 
Kirche at Innsbruck. 

The Winged Lion oe St. Mark's, Venice 208 

St. Mark's Church an.d Plaza, Venice 216 

Historic Bronze Horses, St. Mark's Church, 

Venice 218 

On the Grand Canal, Venice 220 

Dante Observing the Giotto Tower, Florence. . 225 

Galileo's Tower,, Florence, Italy 228 

View from Hotel Veranda, Capri . . . 276 

In Old Pompeii 282 

Old Capuchin Convent, Amalfi 286 

Happy Days on the Atlantic 290 



INTRODUCTION. 

These pages were written with the idea, at first, 
of merely elaborating my jonrnal for the perusal of 
my family and friends, especially some young people 
in whom 1 am much interested, and to inspire those 
young people with the desire to study the history and 
literature of other lands; but, as the subject grew^ I 
concluded to offer it to other readers. 

I have illustrated some of the spots visited by 
scraps of history and incidents indicative of the char- 
acter of the people, C]uoting almost altogether from 
those who dift'er from me in religious conviction. 
And now I invite you to share with me the reminis- 
cences of a summer that, to me at least, is marked by 
a Red Letter. 

Among my souvenirs of travel, an album is j^rized, 
containing flowers and leaves from spots visited, and 
the scenes where I plucked them come to my mind 
in loved association. 

This bit of ivy recalls a romantic Irish ruin; this 
l)unch of jnn-i)le heather, Scottish scenes; this haw- 
thorn blossom, the snowy hedges along perfect Eng- 
lish roads, where we sauntered in leafy June. Here 
is a wild tlowcr from the forest of h^ontainebleau; a 
tuli]) from a (icrman garden, a liclien from an Alpine 



XII Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

rock, a rose from Capri, and an orange blossom from 
Sorrento. Here I sat, forgetful of time, in the dark- 
ening valley of Interlaken, and watched the fairy 
scene on the summit of the Jungfraii as the setting 
sun coquetted with the snowy peaks, or drifted away 
in a gondola to tuneful melody on the Grand Canal 
in Venice. 

Here, watched the surf beat on the Mediterranean 
shores, as restless as in the days when her islands were 
peopled by the fabled gods and goddesses; or in beau- 
tiful Florence sat with Dante, admiring the famed 
Giotto Tower; gazed with Galileo through the first 
telescope into the wonders of the heavens, or fol- 
lowed the Misericordians in their solemn offices of 
charity. Here, contemplated the grim walls of silent, 
sad Chillon, and with Eyron compassionated the 
lonely prisoner; or with Napoleon penetrated the 
sublime fastnesses and stony crags of the Pass Saint 
Bernard; drifted along the picturesque Rhine and 
peopled the crumbling rums of her old castles with 
the knights and robber barons of old. 

Here, languished in the Mamertine prison with 
Peter and Paul, knelt in the sacred galleries of the 
Catacombs, and at the shrine of "Domine, quo Vadis" 
heard the Divine reply to the remorseful apostle; in 
the Coliseum listened to the cries of the brutal pop- 
ulace the roar of the wild beasts, the triumphant pray- 



Memories of a Red-Letter Sionnier. xiii 

ers of the martyred Christians, and the call of the 
gladiators. " Caesar, we. who are about to die. salute 
thee!" in old Pompeii walked with blind X}(lia. 
heard the oracle, looked in at the feast in the house 
of Diomed; saw the warning " Cave Canem " at the 
tloor of the house of Glaucus. and tied with the af- 
frighted populace from the ashes of Vesuvius. At 
Oberammergau's Passion Play we knelt with Mary 
and John at the crucifixion, and awakened again in 
Rome, m the presence of the most august monarch 
of Christendom, though throneless. Leo XIII. 

So, if you have visited these spots, we will share 
the rehearsal; if not. may mine be the pleasure to 
dej)ict. if in l)ut a faulty v.ay, some of the pleasures 
of foreign travel. 



MEMORIES OF A RED-LETTER SUMMER. 



CHAPTER I. 

OUR ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND. 

And so. one lovely May morning- in the year of 
our Lord 1900. a happy family group, we stepped on 
board the good ship that was to be our home for a 
week, and as we were swung out of the harbor at 
New York, and saw the land gradually disappear, a 
feeling of sadness was combined with the happy pros- 
pects of a long antici]:>ated trip al:)road. However dear 
home may be, still there is implanted in e^•ery breast 
a longing for something be^'ond, else should we be 
but clods. Soon we were indeed " out on the ocean 
sailing," and as the shadows of evening fell our hearts 
were raised to Mary, " star of the sea," committing 
to her tender care our own fortunes and the loved 
ones left behind us. " Ave Sanctissima, 'tis nightfall 
on the sea: guard us while shadows lie dark o'er the 
waters spread! " 

And so we sailed and we sailed, until one day the 
spectral shadows of the eclipse fell over us, and all 
eyes were turned on the great phenomenon of nature 



2 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

which, viewed at sea, seemed to be particularly im- 
pressive. Nothing occurred to relieve the monotony 
of the daily routine; a tracing of smok€ in the far dis- 
tance, indicating our nearest neighbor in a passing 
vessel, created the only excitement, until at last a 
faint line appeared, and we approached the coast of 
France at Cherbourg, where "many of our passengers 
left us directly for the great Paris exposition. 

Now came aboard the welcome newsboy, bringing 
packages of the Paris edition of the New York Herald, 
dating from the day of our departure, and we felt, as 
we greedily obtained our share, that we were once 
more in touch with the great half of the world behind 
us. Carefully guarding our precious newspapers for 
a favorable time to look them over, we turned our 
attention to the strange shores with their long lines 
of fortifications, the blue bloused laborers assisting in 
the unloading of the vast cargo of mail and baggage, 
and waved goodbye to the friends who boarded the 
puffing tender that was to carry them to the shore. 
At last our vessel's head was turned northward, to 
cross the channel, passing the beautiful Isle of Wight, 
with its many attractions and memories of Charles I., 
and soon we reached Southampton, where we disem- 
barked and watched with regret the graceful, reced- 
ing vessel continuing to Bremen. 



Our Arrival in England. 3 

A strange feeling possessed me as I stepped first 
on England's shore, foreign, yet native, for from this 
land one of my ancestors came, while from the 
" Green Isle," so near, another forsook castle and 
lands to follow a lo\'ed husband's fortunes to the new 
world. In both cases their descendants later took up 
arms to defend their adopted country from the 
tyranny of King George, pledging " their lives, their 
fortunes, and their sacred honor " for the securement 
of the blessed liberty we no^v enjoy. Yet, we go back 
now, as children grown too large for parental leading 
strings, and defiant of parental injustice, still turn with 
affectionate remembrance to the old home. 

The \-isitor to the old world is at once brought 
face tc face with the mighty past. Here, at Southamp- 
ton, King Canute rebuked his flattering courtiers by 
taking his seat on the sands, and commanding the 
")cean's waves to recede. Here. Philip of Spain landed 
when he came to England to marry Queen Mary; and 
here, on the only remaining gate of the city are the 
figures of Sir Bevis and the great giant whom he 
killed, Ascapard. From here, Richard of the Lion 
Heart led his crusade; and in 1620, the Mayflower 
left for America with her Puritan passengers. 

From here, we took the cars for London town, 
and found the hotels filled on account of the famous 



4 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

" Darby Day." A horse belonging to " His Royal 
Highness, the Prince of Wales," was to run, and all 
loyal England was on tiptoe. How lovely were the 
English roads, with their carefully kept thorn hedges 
full of snowy bloom, and the smoothly clipped lawns 
surrounding the comfortable, pretty homes. The 
fields were full of peaceful looking cattle and sheep, 
with their young; and we mentally contrasted the jolly 
crowds of both high and low degree, hurrying, in all 
sorts of conveyances, noisily to the racing grounds, 
with the poor fellows of their own blood in Southern 
Africa engaged in most unholy struggle ag-ainst a 
people contending for their liberty. Soon after this 
came the tidings of the fall of Pretoria, and then Lon- 
don ran wild. Our curiosity had led us to Epsom 
Downs to witness the scenes of the long heard of 
" Darby." but as our late arrival on the previous night 
had given us no time to exchange our money, the 
hard-hearted gatekeepers only looked askance at our 
beautiful American gold pieces, and we were obliged 
to return without witnessing the races; feeling, how- 
evei, well compensated for our disappointment, by the 
amusement the outside had allforded us. 

The next morning being Sunday, and the bells 
calling to holy Mass, we went to Kensington, to the 
Oratory of St. Philip Neri, the church of the famous 



Our Arrival in England. 5 

Cardinal Newman, a fine statue of whom stands near 
the door, and whose life has been compared to those 
of Saints Ambrose and Augustine. His secession 
from the Protestant Church, after a long and bitter 
struggle, and his reception into the Catholic fold in 
1845, when he said, "To apprehend the ancient 
church as a fact, is either to be a Catholic or an 
infidel." was described years afterwards, by Lord 
Beaconsfield. as " a blow from which the Church of 
England still reeled." Mr. Gladstone, England's 
" Grand Old Man," referring to this event, said: " It 
has never yet been estimated at its full importance." 
In 1879 he was created Cardinal, and his master mind 
illuminated the literary and religious world of the 
centur)'. His beautiful verses, " Lead, kindly light, 
amid the encircling gloom," written about this time, 
have been loved and quoted by thousands, both in 
and out of the Church, and his influence has led 
many souls out of doubt and despondency into the 
blessed ha\-en of rest, in perfect trust and truth. 

How sad for many who do not accept the lead- 
ing of the " kindly light " that would guide them, but 
for human respect, for pride, or self-interest, they 
ignore it, or hesitate under the shadow of ritualism! 

" So near the gleaming, kindly light. 

So near the path to lead them home ; 
So near the aid of priestly rite, 

So near the outstretched arms of Rome." 



6 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

Like a weak Catholic was the Lord Mayor of 
London, a few years ago, who said he would attend 
the Protestant churches in his official capacity, and 
some one inquired of him if he should die in office, 
would he do so privately or officially. 

The community at ' the Oratory is under obe- 
dience, but without vows. It was introduced into 
England in 1847 by the then Father Newman, under 
Father Faber, also a convert. The church is mag- 
nificent. Among the numerous side chapels is one 
of particular note, in honor of the Seven Dolors of 
the Blessed Virgin. An inscription on a tablet 
reads: "This altar was erected by Flora, Duchess 
of Norfolk, who died in 1887, to the Mother of 
Sorrows, that they who mourn may be comforted." 
Opposite is the inscription: "And God shall wipe 
away all tears from their eyes." There is a picture 
of the " Mater Dolorosa," her heart transpierced by 
seven swords, representing her "seven sorrows," and 
above all a copy of the entombment of our Lord. 

Truly the pious Duchess was afflicted in her 
hoped-for son, heir to the oldest and greatest of 
names and titles, being a helpless paralytic, and 
indeed a hopeless one, save by the intervention of 
a miracle, for which both she and her equally pious 
husband have appealed unceasingly to high heaven, 
by pilgrimages and vows and charities. The altar 



Our Arrival iji Biiglaiid. 7 

of the patron of the church, St. Philip Neri, was 
donated by Henry. Duke of Norfolk. Five silver 
hanging lamps are votive offerings in memory of 
Alexander Gordon Lennox, who died in 1892. In 
the sanctuary the floor is of the finest inlaid wood; 
this, with the ivory inlaid stalls, was the gift of Anne, 
Dowager Duchess of Argyll. The gilt canopy is a 
copy of that suspended in the shrine of St. Anthony 
in Padua. The surrounding paintings are very fine; 
the frieze and molding of gold mosaic are inscribed 
in blue letters, " My house should be called a house 
of prayer, saith the Lord." The pair of branched 
lamps are after those on the arch of Titus, taken 
from Jerusalem; the marble stands bearing the arms 
of the donor, the noble convert. Marquis of Bute, 
whose conversion created such a sensation in Eng- 
land that Beaconsfield, Lord Disraeli, made him a 
character in one of his novels. INIexican onyx faces 
the walls of St. Wilfrid's chapel, and the i^anels are 
occupied by pictures of the English Saints Wini- 
fred, Gregory, Bede, Edward, Alban and Thomas 
a-Becket. 

In the seventh century St. Wilfrid founded a 
Benedictine Monastery at Ripon, and his noble soul 
was well fitted for the moral combat he had to wage 
against crime in high places. The Lady Altar is 
another fine jiiece of work. The Oratory profited 



8 Memories of a Red-Letter- Summer. 

by the persecution of the church in Italy, when 
church property was confiscated. This fine altar of 
Carrara marble was purchased for £16,000, and con- 
veyed to England. The Purgatorian Altar brings 
our hearts to the »Suffering Souls. Cardinal New- 
man, in his " Dream of Gerontius," beautifully de- 
picts the doctrine of the church on this subject. 

The walls of the chapel to St. Patrick are of 
Irish marble, erected by the confraternity. A statue 
of St. Peter is a reproduction of that in St. Peter's in 
Rome. I have only noted a few of the main points 
in this grand Oratory, raised by the faithful for the 
refreshing of the weary souls of life's pilgrims. Here, 
from the busy streets, one may enter an atmosphere 
of peace and prayer, and the soul is lifted above 
earthly dross and pain by the contemplation of things 
heavenly, conscious ever of the Sacred Presence. 

One of the English daily papers, giving an 
account of the funeral of Lord Russell, the great 
Chief Justice, occurring here during our trip to Scot- 
land, says: " They kept strange vigils with Catholic 
fidelity to the dead, who watched all night beside 
the coffin of the Lord Chief Justice, while the four 
high tapers around the catafalque flickered upon the 
ghostly shadows of the vast nave, and the silent mys- 
tery of the altar was touched with sanctuary gleams. . 
Until those obscure hours, when all prayers are sighs. 



Our Arriz'al in England. g 

were penetrated !)}• the dawn, the great Oratory was 
the solemn vestibule of eternity. This was the pre- 
lude to the Requiem for Lord Russell of Killoween." 

During our stay in London, quite lengthy for 
tourists, we made frequent visits here, as the most 
convenient to our hotel, and I look back with deep 
affection to the restful hours spent in the Brompton 
Oratory, with its many sacred associations. 

Out from these peaceful walls into London's busy 
streets, where the living hurry and jostle in the 
daily struggle for existence, or for power, how iew 
ever give thought to the fact that beneath their cease- 
less tread lies the dust of so much greatness, and that 
the vast city, civilized under the mild sway of the 
cross, was once the scene of Roman contention and 
conquest. Roman London lies about eighteen feet 
below the present surface. Discoveries have been 
made, during excavations, of pavements, of tombs, 
statues, coins, ornaments and weapons, and, over all, 
ashes as if from fires. The London of the Britons 
lies yet beneath all this. 

We visited the Houses of Parliament, but they 
were not in session. The Houses of Lords and Com- 
mons are separated by a hall, the Queen's throne 
C(jmmanding a \'iew of both houses. We stood 
where Charles L was tried and sent to the block. On 
the tower is the great clock, whose dial measures 



lo Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

ninety-two feet in circumference, and requires five 
hours to wind. The bell weighs thirteen tons, and 
is known as "Big Ben." In the House of Commons 
we were told of the Mace — a club-like emblem of 
the Speaker's dignity, and always in his custody. It 
is borne on the shoulder of the sergeant-at-arms, and 
there is no business transacted in its absence. We 
regarded with becoming respect the London Bank, 
the " Old Lady of Threadneedle Street," and just 
here will remark what we learned in our banking 
experience. When we asked for gold money, it was 
scooped on to scales and weighed — then we could 
count it, to be sure. One thousand sovereigns weigh 
twenty-one pounds, and their notes, printed on white 
paper and used only once, require five hundred and 
twelve to weigh one pound. 

The site of London Bank is said to have been 
once occupied by a Roman palace. 




Steerage Passengers. 



CHAPTER II. 

WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

Over the ruins of a temple to Diana rose " Paul's 
Cross," as the seat of the Bishop, while farther west 
rose a Benedictine Monastery, Westminster. St. 
Paul's has risen phoenix-like from the great fire of 
London in 1666, commanding attention from histo- 
rical interest and as a triumph of architectural art; 
but Westminster holds our affection. We spent 
much time in wandering through its dim aisles and 
cloisters, and peopling it with those whose dust lies 
below. Here is a perpetual sermon against the folly 
of attaching the heart to the pomps and vanities 
of life. 

This grand old pile, the fruit of patient lal)or of 
hand and brain for centuries, is now a vast cemetery. 
The vaulted ceilings, that once resounded with praise 
and prayer, now echo back the footsteps of the vis- 
itor, be he but the careless sight-seer, the reverent 
antiquarian, or the pious Christian bent on homage 
to the saintly relics still remaining here in spite of 
the vengeful wrath of the fanatical destroyer. 

No longer burns here the perpetual lamp, cheer- 
ing the heart of the worshiper as indicating the Sacred 
Presence of our Divine T^ord! It was extincruished 



12 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

centuries ago. Shall it ever be re-lighted? Services 
of the Church of England are held here, and a Cath- 
olic entering Westminster feels as one who, entering 
his father's house, finds another in possession. Tra- 
dition carries the first foundation back to the early 
days of the introduction of Christianity into Great 
Britain by St. Augustine, when the See of Canter- 
bury was instituted. Mellitus, a noble Roman, con- 
secrated first Bishop of London, and Sebert, King 
of the East Saxons, began the church. His tomb is 
here, dated 6i6. We also hear of a fisherman ferry- 
ing over a stranger on the evening before the dedi- 
cation, who proved to be St. Peter; the church was 
lighted up and angel choirs singing. Edward the 
Confessor next added to it. He was buried in front 
of the altar in 1066. So much beloved was he, that 
kings, nobles and all great men vied in honoring his 
memory and desired sepulture near him. He was 
canonized, and events of miraculous nature occur- 
ring at the time of the changing of his tomb, proved 
his sanctity. 

From the days of William the Conqueror to Vic- 
toria, every sovereign has been crowned here. The 
coronation chair incloses the famous stone of Scone. 
It is said to be the stone on which Jacob rested his 
head at Bethel; carried to Egypt, thence to Spain, 
thence to Ireland, where it is said to have pillowed 




Coronation Chair, Westminster Abbey. 



Westminster Abbey. 13 

the head of the d}'ing St. Cokimba. It was placed 
on Tara's Hill, and Irish kings were crowned on it. 
It was said to gToan if the claimant were of royal 
blood, but remained silent if he were not. It was 
received in Scotland about the year 850 and depos- 
ited in the Monastery of Scone. Upon it the Scot- 
tish monarchs were crowned. When Edward the 
First overran Scotland, the stone was seized and car- 
ried to England, and deposited in Westminster in 
1297. A magnificent chair was made to contain it, 
and it still stands there, battered indeed by time and 
the abuse of visitors, before it was more carefully 
guarded. On coronation occasions it is covered by 
cloth of gold. It has never been taken from the 
Abbey but once, and that was when Oliver Cromwell 
was installed Protector. The Abbey suffered from 
his soldiers in the demolition of grand and beautiful 
works of art of all descriptions. The once magnifi- 
cent shrine of Edward the Confessor, with its gold, 
silver, precious stones and curious mosaics, is now 
l)ut a bare structure. Still it stands high above all, 
the center of pious ]:)ilgrimages. 

The fine tomb of Henry the Fifth, the hero of 
Agincourt, close by, had the solid silver head knocked 
of¥, and the sheets of gold that covered the efifigy were 
torn from it. Of him Shakespeare wrote: " I lung 
be the heavens in black," etc. 



14 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

Edward the First lies near, and the good Queen 
Maud, or Matilda, who by her marriage with Henry 
the First united the Norman and Saxon lines. It is 
recorded of her that in Lent she would walk bare- 
footed from her palace to the shrine, clothed in a 
hair garment, aild spend long hours in prayer and 
penance. • Here also lies Eleanor of Castile, in whose 
honor crosses were raised w^herever her body rested 
on the way to the tomb. The last of these is Char- 
ing Cross. She accompanied her husband, Edward 
the First, on his crusades, and once saved his life by 
sucking the poison from a wound. 

Here, too, are Katherine of Valois, the ancestress 
of the Tudors; and Philippa, so beloved of her hus- 
band, Edward HI., that after her death and that 
of his son, the Black Prince, his fortunes failed, and 
he died broken hearted and neglected. Near by is 
the chapel of Henry the Seventh, once " Lady 
Chapel," built by him as a burial place for himself 
and family, where Masses could be said for his soul, 
" pperpetually, forever, while the world shall endure." 
This w^as once magnificent and adorned with curious 
emblems. By his grave is a bronze dragon, that 
asserted his claim to descent from King Arthur, and 
a crown on a bush, commemorating his hasty crown- 
ing on Bosworth field with the crown of Richard. 



Westminster Abbey. 15 

found on a bush, and many other emblems significant 
of his rank. 

The carvings on doors and ceilings, and all the 
works generally, are most admirable. High up still 
remain stone statues of the saints; while along the 
walls are the seats of the Knights of the Bath, each 
with his coat-of-arms and banner above. 

The " reformers " made sad work of this mag- 
nificent place when they began the spoliation of the 
Abbey, at its dissolution by Henry VHL, with all 
other religious houses. At the head of Henry the 
Seventh's toml) lies James I. of England, son of the 
unhappy Mary, Queen of Sects. After her death by 
the headman's ax, at Fothcringay, in 1587. her body 
was interred at Peterborough Cathedral, but James, 
after his accession to England's throne, had it re- 
moved to Westminster, where he had the same 
honors paid to Queen Elizabeth and his " dearest 
mother." A facsimile of his letter hangs on the 
screen by the toml). They lie opposite each other, 
and beneath Elizabeth is the body of her half-sister, 
Mary, daughter of Catherine of Aragon. In this 
chapel also lies the l)0(ly of Edward VI., son of 
Henry the Eighth and Jane Seymour. At his 
funeral was first used the burial service of the Eng- 
lish Church. He died at sixteen. Council under 
him ordered the " purging of the library of all mis- 



1 6 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

sals, legends and superstitious volumes." The tomb 
of the mother of Henry Seventh is- surmounted by 
her effigy, most beautiful. Her life was full of good 
works. Her funeral sermon was preached by her 
friend and confessor. Bishop Fisher, afterwards be- 
headed by her grandson, Henry VHI. The eulogy- 
was a model of concise and perfect praise, " Every 
one who knew her loved her, and everything she did 
became her." 

The bodies of the young princes murdered in the 
Tower were found at the foot of a staircase, and 
removed here by order of Charles H. This chapel 
has been described as " sown with the dust of kings," 
for beneath the pavement lie many royal bodies of 
lesser note and many children. Here, also, is the 
tomb of General Monk, Oliver Cromwell's aid, close 
to that of his royal master, Charles H., whom he 
aided in restoring. A tablet to Oliver Cromwell 
marks where his body laid, together with some of 
the prominent leaders of the commonwealth; but at 
the Restoration they were dug up, thrown into a' lime 
pit, and their skulls set on Westminster Hall. Here 
lie, also, many clergy and confessors for the faith. 

The Abbey begun in early ages, adorned by the 
patient labor of loving hands and gifted with pre- 
cious offerings befitting the house of God, has wit- 
nessed many stormy scenes. 



Westminster Abbey. 17 

Attila's hordes had at least the apology of being 
heathen, but here, under the guise of religion, hun- 
dreds of years later both Thomas and Oliver Crom- 
well's men destroyed works of art, rifled the shrines, 
burned in ignorant hatred precious manuscripts, the 
result of patient labor of studious and learned monks, 
and committed many other sacrilegious outrages. 
Of the old painted windows but little escaped; such 
pieces as could be recovered were made into a kind 
of patchwork by the respecters of antiquity. Dean 
Stanley deserves special mention for this care, and he. 
too, lies in the Abbey. Edwin, the first Abbot, lies 
in the ancient chapter house. Part of a stairway yet 
remains by which the monks used to descend at night 
into the church to pray. 

The Abbey had a ghost in the person of Brad- 
shaw, who died in 1659. He presided at the tribunal 
which condemned Charles I. He lived a while by 
permission in a little chamber in the corner. The 
last coronation by Catholic rites was that of Eliz- 
abeth; the last Requiem Mass w-as Queen Mary's, 
excepting one for Charles V. of Germany, soon after- 
wards, by order of Elizabeth. This ca])ricious Queen 
was a queer compound, one day attending holy Mass, 
another giving orders for wholesale persecutions. A 
victim of remorse, she died flung on her cushions on 
the floor. In the Louvre Gallerv, in Paris, we saw 



1 8 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

a most terrible and realistic depiction of the last sad 
scene. In Westminster, Nelson craved a tomb, but 
while he has here an effigy in wax, he is buried in 
St. Paul's, inclosed in a wooden coffin, made from a 
mast of the Orient, underneath a magnificent sarco- 
phagus made by order of Wolsey for his own inter- 
ment, but confiscated with his other properties when 
he had fallen under the displeasure of his royal master, 
Henry VIII. 

No one knows where the monks buried Wolsey, 
the broken-hearted Cardinal. En route to the Tower 
for imprisonment, on the charge of treason, illness 
compelled him to stop at the Abbey of Leicester, and 
to the monks who met him he said: " I am come to 
lay my bones among you. Had I but served my 
God as diligently as I have served the King, He 
would not have given me over in my gray hairs." 

In St. Paul's also lies England's other great sol- 
dier, Wellington. In Westminster are remembered, 
if not buried, the world's brightest literary lights, 
from Chaucer, born about 1340, whose " Canterbury 
Tales " still delight all readers, down through five 
hundred years. Among them Spenser, of the "Faerie 
Queen," laureate under Elizabeth. 

A number of his contemporaries, including 
Shakespeare, dropped into his grave eulogies on 
him, together with the pens with which they were 



IVestiiiinstcr Abbey. 19 

written. Burns, whose l)0(ly lies in his own l^eloved 
Scotland, has here a memorial; and Dryden, so well 
known by his " Hind and Panther," written after his 
conversion to Catholicity. Cowper and George Her- 
bert have a memorial window placed by our own gen- 
erous compatriot, George W. Childs. There is a bust 
to Milton, whose body lies in St. Giles' Churchyard, 
and a bust to Shakespeare, who lies in the church at 
Stratford on Avon. Some suppose that the reason 
why his body has never been brought here is out of 
respect to the words of his epitaph: 

" Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbeare 
To dig the dust enclosed heare," etc. 

Our own Longfellow has a bust from his English 
admirers, and Thackera^• a memorial, but his body 
lies at Kensal Green. There is a bust to Gray, who 
lies at Stoke Pogis, the scene of his " Elegy in a 
Country Churchyard." Wordsworth has a statue, 
but is buried at Grasmere, his old home, whose sur- 
roundings are woven in so many of his sweet poems. 
Here, too, is Thomas Campbell, whose " Hohenlin- 
den " was the delight of my childhood, and is always 
associated with a little, chubby, rosy-cheeked boy, 
whose favorite recitation it was. Ifis black eyes 
would sparkle under the inspiration of the martial 
words, little dreaming that one day his fate wotdd be 
as those for whom '" the snow should be their wind- 



20 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

ing- sheet " when he fell in the conflict between the 
North and the South in our own Civil War. 

There is a memorial of Sir Walter Scott, whose 
body lies in Dryburgh Abbey, near his Scottish 
home; Robert Southey, once laureate; Coleridge, of 
"Ancient Mariner" fame; Thomson, of the "Sea- 
sons" ; while side by side lie Browning and Tennyson, 
late laureate. His last verses are so beautiful: 

"Sunset and evening star and one clear call for me, 
And may there be no moaning of the bar when I put out to 

sea, 
But such a tide as moving, seems asleep, too much for sound 

and foam. 
When that which drew from out the soundless deep, turns 

again home. 
"Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark. 
And may there be no sadness of farewell when I embark. 
For, though from out our bourne of time and place the 

flood may bear me far, 
I hope to see my Pilot face to face, when I have crossed the 

bar." 

" Rare Ben Jonson," the friend of Shakespeare, 
is buried standing on his feet. There is a statue of 
Joseph Addison, of the Spectator, who died in 1719, 
" the noblest purifier of English literature." At his 
death, after lying in state in the Jerusalem chamber 
of the Abbey, his body was carried at night, by torch- 
light, around the shrine of the "Confessor," while the 



IVestniinsier Abbey. 21 

choir sang a funeral hymn, and was deposited in the 
Henry Seventh's chapel. Here lie Macaulay, the his- 
torian, Charles Dickens, the beloved of all readers, 
and Sheridan, of the " Rivals." These are names 
most familiar in the " Poets' Corner." Strange to 
say, among all these brilliant lights lies the body of 
■' Old Parr," who died in 1635, aged one hundred 
and fifty-two years, having lived in the reigns of ten 
sovereigns. In this neighborhood also is Anne of 
Cleves, one of Henry Eighth's wives, who died a 
Catholic, and was buried here by the monks; and it 
is believed that the wife of Richard the Third is also 
buried here. 

Among the statesmen are William Pitt, so famil- 
iar in our own revokitionary history; Grattan, the 
great defender of Ireland, and his devoted friend, 
Charles James Fox. England's Prime Ministers, 
Palmerston. Peel, Disraeli, also a great writer, and 
Gladstone, the " Grand Old Man." During our stay 
in London his wife, aged eighty-eight years, died, and 
was laid in her husband's tomb. The burial was pri- 
vate. The account read : " The proceedings were as 
simple as possible, the coffin of plain oak, and there 
was an utter absence of display. As the body was 
lowered into the grave, one could not help recalling 
the pathetic incident of two years ago, when this 
woman, now gone to join him, sat at the font of her 



22 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

husband's open grave, a bowed and weeping figure." 
The anthem sung was, " Their bodies are buried in 
peace, but their name liveth for evermore." Besides 
a telegram from the Queen to the bereaved daughter, 
the Prince and Princess sent a wreath with verse, 
breathing the gentle soul of the Princess so much 
beloved: 

"In Memory of Dear Mrs. Gladstone: 

" It is but crossing Avith a bated breath 
And white set face, a little strip of sea, 
To find the loved one waiting on the shore, 
More beautiful, more precious than before. 

" Alexandra." 

Here is Cavendish, first Duke of Newcastle, 
whose devotion to Charles I. cost him nearh^ a mil- 
lion pounds. Warren Hastings has a monument, 
but is not buried here. His eulogy, by Macaulay, is 
very beautiful: " With all his faults, and they were 
neither few nor small, only one cemetery was worthy 
to contain his remains. In that temple of silence and 
reconciliation, where the enmities of twenty genera- 
tions lie buried, in the great Abbey, which has in so 
many ages afforded a quiet resting place to those 
whose minds and bodies have been shattered by the 
great Hall, the dust of the illustrious accused should 
mingle with the dust of the illustrious accusers." The 



Westminster Abbey. 23 

trial of Warren Hastings in Westminster Hall occu- 
pied seven years, and brought him financial disaster. 
but he was at length unanimously acquitted of the 
charges brought by his enemies, and closed his days 
in honorable retirement, being provided for by the 
West India Company. He was buried at Daylesford 
with his people. 

Here lie Richard Cobden, the champion of free 
trade and the repeal of the corn laws; Sir Thomas 
Hardy, the excellent soldier, present at Nelson's 
death; and Major John Andre, who was hanged by 
Washington as a spy in 1780. For forty years his 
body lay on the banks of the Hudson, and was then 
transferred here. The chest is shown which was used 
in place of a coffin, to disarm the superstitions of the 
sailors. On the monument is a bas relief of Wash- 
ington receiving the petition in which Andre begged 
for a soldier's death by shooting, instead of a felon's 
death by hanging. A wreath of autumn leaves, an 
American offering, is over his monument. Side by 
side lie Herschel, the astronomer, and Sir Isaac New- 
ton, the great mathematician and formulator of the 
law of gravity. A slab on the floor bears the name 
of Darwin, whose theories of evolution have caused 
much discussion. George Peabody, the great Amer- 
ican philanthropist, rested here a while, and was then 
removed to his native Massachusetts. Stephenson, 



24 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

the great engineer, and James Watt, the improver 
of the steam engine ; and Livingstone, the great Afri- 
can explorer, who died in Africa, and was carried by 
his faithful servants to the coast, where his body was 
shipped to England to be interred here. A monu- 
ment to Sir John Franklin, the Arctic explorer, con- 
tains a beautiful inscription from Tennyson's pen: 

■' Not here! the white north has thy bones; and thou, 
Heroic sailor soul, 
Art passing on thy happier voyage now, ' 
Toward no earthly pole." 

The persistence of his devoted wife, in organizing 
searching parties for him, has made his name and 
hers household words and enlisted the world's sym- 
pathies. 

There is a memorial to John Wesley, the father 
of Methodism, buried at Marylebone; and Wilber- 
force, the philanthropist; General Wolfe, who fell at 
Quebec, and has there a joint monument with his 
brave opponent, Montcalm, who has here also a 
monument, but is buried at Greei\vvich. Among the 
musicians are Balfe, the Irish composer; Henry Pur- 
cell, once organist of Westminster, of whom Dry den 
wrote: " He has left this life and gone to that blessed 
place, where only his harmony can be exceeded." 
Another organist and composer, IJr. William Croft, 
has the inscription on his tomb: '' He emigrated to 



IVesttninstcr Abbey. 25 

the hea\'enly choir, \\ith that concert of angels, for 
which he was better fitted, ackhng" his hallehijah." 
Hantlel has a fine statue, and beneath it is a l)ust to 
Jenny Lind Goldschniidt. who so weh niterpreted his 
music. Among dramatists and actors are Congreve. 
considered Shakespeare's only rival; Anne Oldfield, 
whose fame as the greatest actress of her day has 
come down to the present; Barton Booth, ancestor 
of the American Booths; Beaumont, David Garrick, 
Mrs. Siddons and her brother. John Kemljle; Barry, 
the tragedian of 1777; and Mrs. Bracegirdle, noted in 
both the dramatic and political world. While on the 
subject of great men and w^omen of England, I will 
mention beside the tombs of Wellington and Nelson, 
in St. Paul's, the ri\al in antiquity of foundation of 
Westminster, lie also John of Gaunt; the painter Van 
Dyck, who was in England the last nine years of his 
life by request of King Charles; General Gordon; 
Ilallam, the historian; General Brock, killed at 
Oueenstown, Canada, i(Si2; Sir John Moore; the 
])ainters Turner and Reynolds; General Pakenham, 
defeated at Xew Orleans in 181 5 by General Jack- 
son; and Lords Howe and Cornwallis, both of whom 
figured so largely in our struggle for independence. 
Here also lies Sir Christojiher Wren, the great archi- 
tect, under the canopy of this most fitting monument 
to his genius, the great v^t. Paul's. Returning to 
f 2) 



26 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

Westminster, I must recall that this once possessed 
the right of sanctuary, which was abolished by James 
the First. By this right the Oneen of Edward the 
Fourth twice took refuge here. On the first occa- 
sion her son, Edward V., was born and baptized, and 
the second time, thirteen years later, she returned 
with her young children, fleeing from the Duke of 
Gloucester. She- was persuaded to give them up to 
their uncle, who later had them murdered in the 
Tower. 

I was told that Westminster once contained the 
quaint and very true old epitaph: 

"How now, who is heare? 
I, Robin of Doncastire, 
And Margaret, my feare, 
That I spent, that I had, 
That I gave, that I have, 
That I left, that I lost." 

But we were too much interested in the personality, 
so to speak, of the tombs, to search for something 
merely curious. On one of our visits to the Abbey 
we noted a Chinese woman in native costume come 
in and kneel with rosary in hand to recite her pray- 
ers. To those interested in the burials of royalty I 
will mention that in the vaults of Windsor Palace, 
just out of London, lie the bodies of Henry VIII. and 
one of his Queens, Jane Seymour, and the beheaded 



JVcst)}iinster Abbey. 27 

Charles I. Byron says: '* By headless Charles, see 
heartless Henry lies." Here lie Kings Edward IV., 
Henry V^L, George HI., William IV., George IV. 
and his only child, the mnch l)emoaned Princess 
Charlotte. 

I have Init touched on the names and incidents 
most familiar to the casual reader. I always love to 
stroll among the resting places of the dead, be the}" 
great or humble, and Gray's " Elegy " runs through 
m\- mind. Especially appropriate here are these lines: 

" Can storied urn or animated bust 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ! 
Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust. 

Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death ! 
The boast of Heraldry, the pomp of Power, 

And all that Beauty, all that Wealth e'er gave. 
Await alike the inevitable hour. 

The path of glory leads but to the grave !" 

Longfellow also writes so beautifully of the dead: 

" Take them, O Grave ! and let them lie 
Folded upon ihy narrow shelves, 
As garments by the soul laid by. 
And precious only to ourselves." 

Westminster memories crowd thick and fast on 
one who, like myself, has in youth studied history 
onlv through tiic narrowest of Calvinistic spectacles. 

Henrv the iCighth was once a pions child of the 
Church, when learning llounshcd, and the bodies as 



28 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

well as the minds of his people were cared for; but 
his baser passions led to the destruction of this state 
of prosperity, uprooting of schools and colleges; 
pulling down and confiscating for himself and his 
favorites what years of labor had erected, his title as 
" Defender of the Faith '' became a mockery. On 
his own brow he placed the crown of spiritual su- 
premacy. Green's EiiglisJi History says: " All that 
men saw was politicar and religious chaos, in which 
ecclesiastical order had perished, and in which poli- 
tics was diving down into the squabbles of a lot 
of nobles over the spoils of the Church and crown. 
Divinity ceased to be taught in the universities, stu- 
dents fell off in numbers, libraries were scattered 
and burned, and the intellectual impulse died away." 
Hallani, the historian, writes: " The most striking 
effect of the first preaching of the Reformation was 
that it appealed to the ignorant." 

The historian Spelman writes that when Henry's 
Council was slow o\er passing one of his bills, he 
angrily said: " I will have that bill pass, or I will 
have some of your heads." Of course the bill was 
passed. The apostate Bishop Cranmer did his spir- 
itual bidding, while Thomas Cromwell, low born and 
bred, was the fitting tool to enforce anything else. 
Monasteries founded by such a good king as Alfred, 
and his tutor, St. Swithin, were speedily undone by 



Westminster Abbey. 29 

this other jiair. As one exam])le alone of the occu- 
pation of the monks in what is called the Dark Ages, 
the most beautiful \olume in the Congressional 
Lil)rary in ^^^ashing■ton is a Bible transcribed in the 
sixteenth century by a poor, unknown monk. Writ- 
ten on parchment in German text, the lettering is so 
perfect that even a magnifying glass fails to detect 
any irregularity. So in the British Museum I have 
seen examples of similar work, some of the few 
rescued from the destruction so general then. 

TJic BibliograpJicr says: " The Religious Orders 
used to have almost the monopoly of copying l:)Ooks. 
as few laymen possessed the requisite skill. The Car- 
thusians made it one of their chief labors for sup- 
port. In the Abbeys a certain room was set apart, 
called the Scriptorium, for this purpose, and here 
the monks doing this work met every day. The 
Missals, Bibles, and books reciuiring the greatest skill 
and learning, were only executed by priests of mature 
years and experience. The monks were enjoined to 
work in strict silence, to avoid distraction, and guard 
against errors in grammar or spelling. Every pos- 
sible precaution was taken to secure strict accuracy. 
Some illuminatcrl the co]:)ies, while others again 
bound them. Tn the Cotton Library is a copy of 
the Gospels, written by Eadfud. Bishoji of Durham. 
The illuminations, capital letters and jiicturcs of the 



30 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

evangelists were skillfully executed by his successor, 
Ethelwold, and the Avhole bound by Bilfud, the 
Anchorite, with gold and silver plates and precious 
stones." 

Cobbett writes: "That the ruffians of Thomas 
Cromwell, to whom Henry VIII. had given license, 
tore down altars to get the gold and silver, tore off 
the covers of books, all manuscript, that had been 
ornamented with the precious metals. Single books 
that had taken, in many cases, half a long lifetime to 
compose and copy, whole libraries, that had taken 
ages to get together and cost immense sums of 
money, were scattered abroad by them when they 
had robbed the rich covers of their ornaments." 

But let the waves of persecution dash as they 
will against the rock on which the Church of God 
is founded, all must come at length to agree with 
Macaulay's tribute. He says: "She was great and 
respected before the Saxon had set foot in Britain, 
before the Frank had passed the Rhine; when Gre- 
cian eloquence still flourished in Antioch, when idols 
were still worshiped in the temple of Mecca; and she 
may still exist in undiminished vigor, when some trav- 
eler from New Zealand shall, in the midst of a vast 
solitude, take his stand on a broken arch of London 
Bridge to sketch the ruins of »St. Paul's." 

A few years ago Lord Salisbury, a good Church 



Ji\^sfjiiiiistcr Abbey. 31 

of Eiii^-land man, said: "The ,£^reat and beneficent 
Reformation itself was set rolling in England because 
Henry A^III. got tired of his wife and fell in love with 
her maid." The Protestant rector. Dr. Jesso]). sa\'S. 
among other things equalh- just: "The religious 
houses were then, as now, hives of industry. Every- 
thing that was made or used in a monastery was pro- 
duced on the spot. The grain grew on their own 
land, the corn was ground in their own mill; their 
clothes were made from the wool of their own sheep. 
They had their own tailors, shoemakers, carpenters 
and l)lacksmiths; they kept their own bees, they grew 
their own garden stuff and their own fruit; they knew 
more of fish culture than we moderns; they grew 
grapes and made their own wine. No traveler of 
any degree was refused food or shelter; the mere 
keeping of their accounts re({uire(l a number of 
clerks, for every nail was accounted for; they could 
not have l)een idle to do this in such a minute manner 
to the fraction of a farthing.'' 

Macaulay pays this tribute to the Jesuits: " They 
were to be found spade in hand, teaching the rudi- 
ments of agriculture to the inhabitants of Paraguay, 
perfecting themselves in the language, translating 
books, caring for the sick and instructing children." 
" The Jesuits have always been the pioneers of civi- 
lization and Christianit\'. In their foreign missions. 



32 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

they first make the savages men, and then make the 
men Christians." 

The Cathoh'c clergy have ahvays befriended the 
poor, ahvays advocated peace and submission to 
proper authorities. Note the noble conduct of Car- 
dinal Manning as he stood between capital and labor 
on the London docks, representing the Church in all 
ages. Papers of twelve years ago say that, of the 
one hundred thousand strikers, but one-fourth were 
of his faith. 



- CHAPTER III. 

THE TOWER OF LONDON. 

'J'his ancient l)nilcl!ng stands on Tower Hill, on 
the banks of the Thames. From articles found in 
making" excavations, it apj^ears of Roman origin. In 
Shakespeare's Richard Sccoiui, he makes the Queen 
refer to it as " Julius Caesar's ill erected tower." 
Under William the Conqueror it was continued for 
the purpose of defending the city, and served as fort- 
ress, prison and palace of kings. A moat, now dry, 
once surrounded it, and from the ri\'er the Traitors' 
Gate was much used for landing prisoners. We 
stood for a moment, to imagine the scene of unfor- 
tunates entering to their doom. How man\' ha\-e 
passed this arch with bursting hearts, uncertain of 
their sentence, perhaps for mere imprisonment, per- 
haps to the block! To this fate passed two miserable 
Queens of Henry VHT.. Anne Boleyn and Catherine 
Howard. The Bloody Tower was the scene of the 
murder of the infant Princes by order of tlieir uncle, 
the Duke of Gloucester. Under its stairway, marked 
by a plate, their remains were found, and buried in 
Westnu'nster. The most ancient ]).'n-t, the Wakefield 
To\\er, is now the rei)ository of the crown jewels. 
Among these is first noted the crown of \'ictoria. 



34 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

weighing over thirty-nine ounces. One of the jewels 
is a large rub}^ given to the Black Prince in Spain in 
1367, and worn by Henry V. in his helmet at Agin- 
court. It contains twenty-seven hundred diamonds, 
seven sapphires and eight emeralds. St. Edward's 
crown is here, also his staff, a golden scepter, four 
feet seven inches long, and said to contain a frag- 
ment of the true Cross. 

There are badges of knighthood; the Sword of 
Mercy, pointless; the royal baptismal font and plate 
used on different sacramental occasions; the royal 
scepter and crowns belonging to different sovereigns; 
a recess, shown as a chapel used by Henry IV., and 
the scene of his murder. Adjoining this Tower once 
stood a hall used at the trial of Anne Boleyn. The 
White Tower was built by the " Conqueror " partly 
from an old Roman city wall, which had been con- 
tinued by King Alfred in 885. Many illustrious pris- 
oners have lodged here, among them David, King 
of Scots, John, King of France, and the Duke of 
Orleans, captured at Agincourt by Henry V. Here 
Richard Second signed his abdication in 1399. 

The chapel of St. John was used by William the 
Conqueror and family, and the state apartments were 
reached by a narrow, winding stairway. But one or 
two fireplaces have been found, and the whole place 
is more of the nature of a prison than a palace; and 



The Toivcr of London. 35 

even during our summer \'isit we shuddered at the 
bleak surrounchngs in the dark stone rooms. "Ban- 
quet halls" and "ro}al chambers" seemed Init mock- 
ing appellations. 

From here monarchs proceeded to Westminster 
for coronation. The Armory contains a curious col- 
lection of articles used in ancient and modern war- 
fare. The armorers of early date, chiefly German and 
Italian, were most ingenious workmen. When we 
examined the curious and intricate armor and remem ■ 
berecl that every part was labor of the hands, we won- 
dered at the careful, unique productions. Mounted 
figures display protection for both horse and man, 
and it seemed incredible that human strength was 
equal to the burden of the armor and the immense 
implements (if ^^■arfare — spears, battle-axes, swords 
and helmets. It is possil)le, though, that only the 
rich were able to afford this expensive work, as leath- 
ern and f|uilted protection is also seen. One figure 
is especially noticeable, the " Crusader " co\-ered with 
chain mail. The Ja])anese were also most ingenious 
workmen in this art. Coming down to the use of 
gunpowder, old cannon are noticed here, being 
formed of stri])S of iron welded together and encircled 
with hoops. One old gun is from the wreck of the 
"Mary Rose." sunk in 15.15 during an engagement 
with the l-'rench. 



36 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

Here is the cloak worn by General Wolfe at his 
death in Quebec, in 1759; also the block and ax used 
at the beheading of Lord Lovat in 1747, for his siding 
with the Pretender, and marks of the ax are on the 
block. Here are also instruments of torture — a not 
very creditable exhibition, since they have been 
admittedly added to for effect. 

In the Queen's House, now occupied as the Lieu- 
tenant's lodgings, is the door through which Lord 
Nithsdale, disguised as a woman, escaped in 1741, 
the night before he was to have been executed 
In one of the rooms Guy Fawkes, accused of the 
famous " Gunpowder Plot," was examined in 1605. 
Adjoining is the house occupied by Lady Jane Grey 
during her imprisonment, and here she is said to have 
^een her husband's headless body carried by, while 
the scaffold was prepared for her own execution, in 
1554. The Royal Chapel contains the tombs of 
herself and husband, Lord Guilford Dudley, several 
Scotch Lords beheaded for their share in the rebel- 
lion under the Pretender in 1745, the Dukes of 
Monmouth, Somerset, Northumberland; also the 
Queens, Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard. The 
Tower green, in front of this chapel, was the place of 
execution; and here also suffered Jane, Viscountess 
Rochford, in 1542, and Robert, Earl of Essex, in 
1601. 



The Tozi'cr of London. 37 

But sad as were the memories connected with 
these spots, where ambition, revenge and other 
human passions he buried, the place most appeahng 
to the heart was the Beauchamp Tower. Dark and 
gloomy, it was Hghted only by sHts in the walls, until 
some years ago a large window was opened for light- 
ing the main apartment, converted into a mess room. 
The walls are covered with inscriptions, carved by the 
unhappy prisoners to while away the sad hours of 
their confinement, while awaiting death or whatever 
the caprice of those in power should dictate. 

Entering the door, we see the name of Paslew 
and the words, " My hope is in Christ." The name 
of Robert Dudley appears, created Earl of Leicester 
by Elizal)eth, once so hig"h in her favor as to hope for 
her hand; again, so far under her displeasure as to 
be here a prisoner. He finally died at his castle of 
Kenil worth, around which spot Sir Walter Scott 
wove one of his most charming romances. 

The name of Peveral, with curious device, em- 
bracing a cross, a death-head and arms of the Pever- 
als, seems to mark him a religious prisoner under 
Elizabeth. Further on, the same armorial bearings, 
three wheat sheaves, are again seen, and a cross in- 
serted in a heart, showing another member of the 
family a ])risoner. 

The name of William Tyrcll. 1541. with a shield; 



38 Memories of a Red-Letter Slimmer. 

is supposed to be a Knight of Malta, who wrote to 
the Prior in London of some irregularities of another 
Knight. The Latin inscription reads: " Since for- 
tune has chosen that my hope should go to the wind 
to . complain, I wish the time were destroyed; my 
planet being ever sad and unpropitious." Another 
inscription reads: " The more suffering for Christ in 
this world, the more glory with Christ in the next. 
Thou hast crowned him with honor and glory, O 
Lord! In memory everlasting he will be just." 

Arundel, June 22, 1587. This was Philip Howard, 
son of the Duke of Norfolk, who died in 1573. The 
name Arundel was from his mother. As he was a 
devoted Catholic, it was easy to bring accusations 
against him; among others, that of harboring priests 
and having Mass for the success of the Spanish 
Armada. Although Hhzabeth spared his life, he was 
confined to prison, not even being permitted to see 
his wife and infant son, who was born after his incar- 
ceration. She offered him liberty to renounce his 
faith, but he refused, and died a prisoner in 1595, 
aged thirty-nine years. Nearly thirty years later his 
body was removed to the family church; and I have 
heard that the late wife of the present Duke of Nor- 
folk, herself of a most deeply pious nature, has his 
skull encased in gold as a relic of a martyr. 

The name of John Dudley, son of the Duke of 



The Tozver of London. 39 

Nortluiml)eiian(l, joined with his father and others 
tr}''ing to prevent the. succession of Queen Mary to 
Edward the Sixth. He was condemned, reprieved, 
but died in the Tower. He was, however, treated 
with leniency, and allowed the company of his wife 
and attendance of his church. The carvings he made 
to while awa}' his time are very interesting'; the family 
arms, surrounded by a wreath of oak, geranium and 
honeysuckle, emblematic of his brothers' names, one 
of them the husband of Lady Jane Grey, and four 
lines of quaint verse. 

The name of Charles Bailley, the bearer of dis- 
patches, in cipher, of a conspiracy in favor of Mary 
Queen of Scots, by some of the Scotch and English 
nobility; was seized, put to the rack, and confined to 
the Tower. He moralized thus: " Wise men ought, 
circumspectly, to see what they do; to examine before 
they speak; to j^rove before they take in hand; to 
beware whose com])any they use; and above all 
things, to whom they trust." 

John Store, Doctor, 1531, was a learned man, 
whose offense was adherence to the Catholic religion. 
Although over seventy years of age, he was executed. 
Near by is Thomas Miagh, an Irishman, of whom 
mention is made in a treatise on the use of torture in 
England. 1 Ic was seized in connection w ith the cor- 
respondence with rebels in h-cl;md, and rc])eatcdly 



40 Memories of a Red-Letter Sunnner. 

tortured, but without effect. His inscription reads: 
" O Lord, which art of heaven King, grant gras and 
hfe everlasting to Miagh, thy servant, in prison." 
Farther on he again carves: 

" Thomas Miagh, which lieth here alone, 
That fain would from hens be gon; 
By torture strange my troyth was tryed, 
Yet of my libertie denied." 1581. 

The name of Poole is in several places, but ap- 
pears to be that of Edmund, Arthur and Geoffrey. 
The two former were implicated in a conspiracy for 
seating" Mary Queen of Scots on the English throne. 
Geoffrey gave evidence against his brothers. An 
inscription in another place of the same date, 1568, 
is ascribed to the Poole brothers; while Arthur Poole 
later carved his name and the words " I. H. S.," " To 
serve God, to endure penance, to oljey fate, is to 
reign." Another monogram tells the sad story of 
Dr. Abel. It consists of a bell, on which is carved 
the letter "A." He was the chaplain of Queen Cath- 
erine of Aragon, first wife of Henry VHI. For his 
devotion to her cause, his opposition to the divorce 
proceedings, and denying the King's supremacy, he 
was beheaded in 1540. Cardinal Pole suffered from 
Henry's displeasure, on account of opposing his di- 
vorce from Catherine, l^ut as the King could not lay 
hands on him, being in foreign lands, vengeance was 



The Tozcer of London. 41 

wreaked on his unhappy mother, the Countess of 
SaHsbury. This aged lady, having given no cause by 
which they could reasonably accuse her, was sen- 
tenced by "attaint" — that is, condemned without 
trial, only on general jirinciples, — by a council imder 
Thomas Crom\vell. She was of royal blood, the last 
of the Plantagenets, and more than seventy years 
of age. She was carried to the scaffold, but when 
bidden to lay her head on the block, said: " No; my 
head shall never bow to tyranny; it never committed 
treason, and if you will have it. you must get it as 
you can." The executioner pursued her art)und the 
scaffold, striking at her with the ax. her gray locks 
hanging loosely, until at last he brought her down. 
This in Christian England! Cobbett spares no invec- 
tive, of which he was certainly master, in denouncing 
the deeds done in the name of " Reformation." 

An interesting device and inscription, of which, 
however, there is no history, is noticed mainly for 
the laborious effort it must have required and the 
registering of the agony of a sad heart. A circle 
contains a shield in one corner of a slab, three salmon 
in another, the date 1622; the name T. Salmon, the 
inscription, " Close ]M-isoner, three months, twelve 
weeks, two hundred and twenty-four days, five thou- 
sand three hundred and seventy-six hours." Latin 
inscriptions signifying " Neither rashly nor with 



42 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

fear" ; encircling a star and cross, "So live that thou 
mayest live." Surrounding a death's head the in- 
scription, "Et morire ne morieris" — "And die that 
thou mayst not die." Adjoining this the name of 
Thomas Roper, 1570, and the words: " By the pain- 
ful passage let us pass to the pleasant port." He is 
supposed to be the Catholic husband of a daughter 
of Sir Thomas More, who was also beheaded under 
Henry VHI. More's body is buried in St. Peter's 
Church at the Tower, and his head is at St. Dunstan's 
Church, Canterbury. 

There is the name of Thomas Fitzgerald, an Irish 
nobleman, who was the victim of kmgly treachery 
and cruelty in 1538, his whole family threatened with 
extermination. And next Adam Sedbar, Abbot of 
Joreval Monastery. For opposing Henry VHL, he 
was, with others, executed at Tyburn, 1537. Doc- 
tor Cooke, 1540, Prior of Doncastle, for the same 
offense, was hanged, drawn and quartered in the same 
year. The name John Martin, and an Italian inscrip- 
tion, " O unhappy man that I think myself to be!" 
John Seymour, 1553, evidently the Seymour who was 
confined to the Tower in 1551 as an adherent of the 
Duke of Somerset. This gentleman, with Stanhope, 
was beheaded. 

The name John Prime, and inscription, " The 



The Toxi'cr of London. 43 

word of the Lord remains," is that of a priest who 
suffered under Klizal)eth; also. John Colleton, priest. 
1581, was a learned clerg-yman, admired by all of 
both religions. His wanderings, apprehensions and 
imprisonments exteniled over many years. He com- 
posed several works, an.d died at the age of eighty- 
five. 

Egremond Rad(dyffe. 1576, " to arrive at," son of 
the Earl of Sussex, a Catholic, and charged with high 
treason. He also suffered banishment, then impris- 
onment, and death in 1578. 

An interesting inscription. Init without history or 
explanation, is the simple word " Tane," probably that 
of Lad)' Jane Grey, and carved by her husband, as she 
was never confined in the Beauchamp Tower. Many 
of these who suffered for the faith are some of the 
" martyrs not mentioned by Fox." 

. Sir Walter Raleigh was imprisoned in the Tower 
for thirteen years for treason, which season he im- 
proved by literary work. Released and again impris- 
oned, he was finally executed in front of Westminster 
Palace, and lies in St. Margaret's Chapel, near by. 

Thomas Cromwell was the tool of Henry VHL, 
w'ho coolly cut off his head when lie had no further 
need of him. Cobbctt relates of 1'homas Cromwell, 
that " he rilled the tomb of St. Thomas a-liccket, de- 



44 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

stroyed the tomb of King Alfred the Good, sent Sir 
Thomas More to the block, and in every way was the 
pliant tool of his master, Henry VIII." 

As historical research is ever brushing the cob- 
webs from the chronicles of these times, posterity has 
come to award to the great and good Sir Thomas 
More the justice due him. He had been Lord Chan- 
cellor of Henry the Eighth, but, wearied with his 
labors, had retired, still in favor. The King, being 
refused by the Pope a divorce from his good wife, 
Catherine of Aragon, the pliable Cranmer granted 
him one, and proclaimed him head of the Church. 
The conscience of the godly Sir Thomas More would 
not subscribe to this, and he was condemned to the 
Tower. - Every inducement was held out to him to 
yield; his friends, and even his son visited him in his 
damp and gloomy cell and pleaded with him. To his 
son he said: " Cease, my child, to persuade your 
father to an unworthy act. Tell the King I am not 
his enemy, but I can not obey his commands to over- 
turn the altars of my God." Sir Thomas More was 
beatified by Pope Leo XIII. in 1886. 

A Httle over one hundred years later was born 
Titus Oates, a consequence of the political and re- 
ligious agitation of these times. Pretending to be a 
convert to the Catholic faith, he entered, in turn, two 
Jesuit seminaries, but was expelled from both for bad 



The Toivcr of London. 45 

conduct. He then invented a great plot, pretending 
that the CathoHcs were to rise, murder the King, 
exterminate the Protestants, burn London, and in- 
volved hundreds of innocent people. He found num- 
berless dupes and plenty of perjurers to back his scan- 
dalous charges. After several years reason began to 
dawn on the people; he was seized for perjury, 
stripped of his honors, sentenced to the pillory to be. 
whipped, and imprisoned for life. A few years after- 
wards he was released. One of his victims, Sir Wil- 
liam Howard Stafford, who was a Catholic nobleman, 
was beheaded. Macaulay calls it a judicial murder. 
He says: " During several generations the Roman 
Catholics were in no condition to demand reparation 
for injustice, and accounted themselves happy if they 
were permitted to live unmolested and in silence. At 
length, in the reign of George the Fourth, more than 
one hundred and forty years after the day on which 
the Ijlood of Stafford was shed on Tower Hill, a law 
annulling liis attainder was passed unanimously, re- 
stcjring the injured family to its ancient dignities." 
Green's English History says '' that Thomas Crom- 
w^ell's administration was the ' English terror.' By 
terror he mastered the King; l)y terror he ruled the 
people." Oliver Cromweli came later to linish up 
the de\astation. Cobbclt. whose llistorx of the Rcf- 
ornialimi holds u\) to execratit)n the deeds done in 



46 Memories of a Red-Letter Swmner. 

England and Ireland at this period, concludes thus: 
"When I considered the long, long triumph of cal- 
umny over the religion of those to whom we owe 
all that we possess that is great and renowned, when 
duty so sacred made me speak, it would have been 
baseness for me to hold my tongue. To be clear of 
self-reproach, I pray God to save my country from 
further devastation, and can safely say that neither 
expressly nor tacitly am I guilty of any part of the 
cause of her ruin." He quotes many authorities, 
among them the London Quarterly Review of 181 1: 
" The world has never been so indebted to any other 
body of men as to the illustrious order of Benedic- 
tine Monks," and after long praise concludes: " The 
Church offered the only asylum from the evils to 
which every country was exposed. It was regarded 
as a sacred realm by men. who, though they hated 
one another, believed in and feared the same God, 
and afforded a shelter to those who were better than 
the world in their youth, or were weary of it in their 
age. The wise, as well as the timid and gentle, fled 
to this Goshen of God. which enjoyed its own light 
and calm amid darkness and storms." 

Even Voltaire, referring to monasteries, says: 
" For a long time it was a consolation to the human 
race that these refuges were open to those who 
wished to escape Goth and Vandal tyranny." 



CHAPTER IV. 

LONDON STREETS AND FOOTSTEPS OF DICKENS — 
BRITISH MUSEUiAI. 

Down Fleet Street we wandered, and thought of 
the many pageants and processions of different kinds 
that had passed over its pavement. It has ahvays 
been one of the main thoroughfares, and quaint old 
houses still occupy space on it, but they are grad- 
ually disappearing. Temple Bar, which separated 
Fleet Street from the Strand, was removed in 1878. 
Originally it was onlv posts and chains, but later a 
house was built on it. On the occasion of royal pro- 
cessions, the King's herald would knock loudly, de- 
manding admittance. The city herald would ask 
who desired to enter. Then the gates would open, 
and the Lord Mayor would advance on foot to offer 
the city sword to the King or Queen. The sword 
would then be returned to him. and he \\(nild ride up 
Fleet Street l^eside the royal .carriage. Queen Eliza- 
beth passed through the IJar w hen going to St. Paul's 
to return thanks for the destruction of the Spanish 
Armada. It was called the Golgotha of English 
traitors, for on its spikes were set the heads of those 
executed. 

The b(Klv of Henrv the I'ifth rested here while on 



48 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

its way to Westminster Abbey; also, Lord Nelson and 
the Duke of Wellington. During this century the 
throng of travel was so great that the London Coun- 
cil decreed its removal. A column, surmounted by a 
dragon, now marks the spot. Close to this spot is 
" Childs' Bank," the oldest in London. The original 
sign of the " Sun and Marigold " is preserved in the 
bank over the door. I wondered idly how it would 
do to enter and announce my name, proclaiming my 
ancestry from a Childs family, pose as a poor relation, 
and see the blank and haughty stare at the presump- 
tion of the wild American. 

From Fleet Street to Holborn runs Chancery 
Lane. Izaak Walton once had a shop here. Around 
Fleet Street and the Strand are many "inns," as they 
are called — colleges of law. Lincoln's Inn is his- 
toric. The site was once occupied by the residence 
of Henry the Third's Chancellor, and the ancient 
monastery of Black Friars, given to the Earl of 
Lincoln. I studied the Gothic gateway for some 
time. It was built in 1518, and bears the arms of Sir 
Thomas Lovell and the date. At the corner of Chan- 
cery Lane once stood the older Temple. The pres- 
ent old Temple Church and gardens have figured in 
fiction. Oliver Goldsmith lies near the church, his 
name being sufficient epitaph. 

Dickens makes these gardens the scene of charm- 



London Streets and Footsteps of Dickens. 49 

ing" little ei)isocles in his ]Mctiires of Tom Pinch, Little 
Rnth, and honest John Westlock. 

Holborn, with its (|uaint old tim1)ered houses, re- 
calls Lhe unfortunate genius. Thomas Chatterton, who 
lived and suicided here at the early age of seventeen. 
His pitiful shade haunts the old neighborhood, and 
his pauper grave has been lost in the improvements of 
the city; but his native town of Bristol has erected a 
monument to his memory. His life may be com- 
pared to the flight of a brilliant meteor. Wordsworth 
referred to him as " the marvelous boy, the sleepless 
soul that perished in his pride." A sketch of the short 
life of this poor boy moves one to tears. Certainly 
his youth was molded to Christian reverence when he 
wrote concerning some of the early dramas: 

" Plays made from holy tales I hold unmeet ; 
Let some great story of a man be sung ; 
When as a man we God and Jesus treat, 

In my poor mind we do the Godhead wrong." 

Driven by poverty an.d discouragement, he fell into 
intemperance: then his lox'c for his mother drox'c him 
to fits of remorse, and hnally. after destroying much 
of his literary work, he ended his short, sad life bv 
poison, in i 770. 

Another Inn of Cotu't. Gray's, in Ylolborn, was 
once monastic pro])erty, biu at the sei/unx of all such 
possessions l)\- 1 k'nr\ \ III., ])assed to the crown. 
U) 



50 Memories of a Red-Letter Sutniner. 

Barnard's Inn, in this neighborhood, figured in the 
" No Popery Riots " of 1780. Dickens mentions it 
in this connection, and the reader of Baniaby Riidge 
will go with interest over these streets, where the 
Gordon rioters held high, bloody and fiery carnival. 
Newgate was wrecked in- rescuing prisoners, and as 
Dickens writes: " Business was quite suspended; the 
greater part of the shops were closed; most of the 
houses displayed a blue flag in token of adherence 
to the popular side; even the Jews in Houndsditch, 
Whitechapel, and those quarters, wrote on their 
doors: " This house is true Protestant." 

The crowd was the law, and never was law held in 
greater dread or more implicitly obeyed. At 6 in 
the evening the vast mob poured into Lincoln's Inn 
fields; and Barnard's Inn was next to the distillery 
burned by the mob as the property of a Catholic. 
This place is also mentioned in Great Expectations. 
Pip says: " We entered the Httle square, that looks 
like a burying ground. I thought it had the most 
dismal trees in it, and the most dismal sparrows, and 
the most dismal cats, and the most dismal houses I 
had ever seen." Even at this day London's old and 
winding streets are all but cheerful in this neighbor- 
hood. In one of these lost corners stands the " Old 
Curiosity Shop," which Dickens describes as " one 
of those receptacles for old and curious things which 



London Streets and Footsteps of Dickens. 51 

seem to crouch in odd corners of the town and hide 
their musty treasures from the public eye in jealousy 
and distrust." We stepped into the low room, which 
is now a little shop, in which the dweller probably 
derives more profits from literary pilo-rims than the 
sale proper of his wares. Here we spent a little while 
with the ghosts of I^ittle Nell and her poor old grand- 
father, and fancied Ouilp and Mrs. Jarley and the 
other characters once visiting here. 

The old gabled houses of Holborn once numbered 
among them a famous tavern, called the " George and 
Blue Boar." Prisoners conducted by officers from 
Newgate along this way often stopped here on their 
way to Tyburn. Swift wrote: 

" As clever Tom Cinchj when the rabble was calling, 
Rode stately through Holborn to die of his calling, 
He stopped at the George for a bottle of sack. 
And promised to pay for it as he came back." 

But as he left his life at Tybiu^n, the landlord evidently 
lost the ])ricc of the drink. The highwayman. Jack 
Sheppard, had also his name connected with W'ych 
Street, a little way off the Strand. Tybiu'n, where 
criminals were executed, was close by where now 
stands the magnificent " Marble Arch," one of the 
entrances to Hyde Park. It is biu'lt of Carrara 
marble, and is modeled from the Arch of Constan- 
tine, in Rome. The grand bronze gates open into 



52 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

the beautiful grounds once used by Henry VIII. and 

several succeeding monarchs as hunting grounds. 

Bigotry ran riot for many years after the so-called 

Reformation; even the great fire in London in 1666 

was attributed to the Catholics, and the monument 

upreared to commemorate it bore the legend to that 

effect, calling forth Alexander Pope's lines: 

" Where London's column pointing to the skies, 
Like a tall bully, lifts its head and lies." 

St. James' Palace was another of Henry VIII. 's 
seizures. It was once a hospital, and the surround- 
ing grounds he turned into a " faire park, for his 
greater comodotie and pleasure," now St. James 
Park. The "Bird-cage Walk" still retains its name 
as in the time of Charles II. For a long time the 
Park was a kind of sanctuary, the use of arms being 
forbidden in its limits. The gate tower bears a clock 
that was made in the time of George II., and had but 
one hand, and the dial curiously constructed. It was 
once removed, as too heavy for the tower, but re- 
placed at the petition of the neighborhood. In the 
palace court each new sovereign is proclaimed on his 
or her accession. The Horse Guards' entrance is 
imposing, and here on each side sit, like statues in 
the sentry boxes, soldiers in splendid uniforms on 
magnificent horses. 

" London Stone," a Roman relic, is preserved in 



London Streets and Footsteps of Dickens. 53 

St. Swithiii's Church, incased 1)_v another stone within 
an iron raihng. It is the same as the mihary stone 
in the Roman Forum, from which distances were 
measured. Shakespeare, in Henry J ^11., makes the 
rehel. Jack Cade, say: " Here sitting upon London 
Stone. I charge and command, that, of the city's cost, 
the concUiit run nothing 1)ut claret wine this first }-ear 
of our reign." This stone is but one of the reHcs of 
Roman occupancy of London. Parts of the old wall 
are yet to be seen, the London of those da}s lieing 
composed mostly of that part between the Tower and 
where the Bank of England now occupies the site of 
a Roman palace. 

We tried to follow the footsteps of Dickens where 
we could. In Chancery Lane we met little Miss 
Flite, still hoping for an early decision in the case 
of Jarnd}ce \-ersus jarndvce We met the Pecksniffs 
and the Smallweeds, Ladv Deadlock and ]ioor Joe. 
little Dora and Agnes and .\unt P)etsy Trotwood. 
^Ir. Micawber was still waiting for something to turn 
u]); while at the vegetable stands we watched Betsy 
Prig stuff her wonderful pockets with the greens anrl 
"cowcumbers" to be unloaded at her famous tea- 
drinking with v^airc}' Gamp, where her unwillingness 
to " drink fair " prcci])itated the dissolution of their 
friendshi]) and the downfall of her belief in Mrs. 
Harris as " there being no sich a person." 



54 Memories of a Red-Letter Snuimer. 

Honest Sam still followed Mr. Pickwick, while 
the elder Weller continued to bid his hopeful son 
" Bevare of the vidders." In the great mansion of 
Mr. Dombey, little Paul, with his old face, asked, 
" Papa, what is money?" and the patient, loving Flor- 
ence watched from the background, with adoring 
eyes, her little brother. Captain Cuttle still exhib- 
ited his wonderful watch; and the sight of a spoiled 
lapdog, of which his fair owner was making much, 
recalled little Dora Copperfield's " Jip " worrying 
imaginary cats. The sound of a Yorkshire tongue 
brought back John Browdie, Tilda, Nicholas, Squeers 
and poor Smike; while in the country, at the canal 
locks, we saw the " honest man who earned his bread 
by the sweat of his brow." Dear, delightful Dickens, 
whose fertile pen has peopled London's streets with 
never failing interest in your funny, quaint or sol- 
emn characters, peace to your ashes! Your mantle 
must inclose them, for it has descended on no other 
shoulders. 

The British Museum was a center from which it 
was hard to tear ourselves, and weeks could be spent 
profitably and delightfully among the priceless col- 
lections. Especially to be noted is a copy of Magna 
Charta, the " bulwark of English liberty," and signed 
by King John; also, of special interest to Catholics, 



London Streets and Footsteps of Dickens. 55 

the Anglo-Saxon charter of Edward the Confessor 
to St. Mar\'s .\])bey. Coventry, founded in 1143, a 
relic of Catholic times and the devotion of King 
Edward to the service of God and His dear Mother. 
Here we also saw the Rosetta Stone, four thousand 
}-ears old. the key to ancient hieroglyphics, captured 
1)\' the British at Alexandria. Egypt. Here also is the 
famous Portland Vase, of cameo glass, very ancient. 
This, sometimes called the Barberini Vase, is a fine 
specimen of the skill of Greco-Roman work. A vis- 
itor had accidentally broken it, but the parts had 
been skillfully put together, thus saving to the art 
world this antique treasure, which was found in a 
Roman tomb four hundred years ago. 

Hyde Park was near our hotel, and here we spent 
much time in driving and strolling. The Alloert Me- 
morial, in honor of Queen Victoria's husband, is one 
of the grandest of monuments. America, Europe. 
Africa and Asia are represented in magnificent marble 
grou])ings. and all the arts are paying tribute to the 
Pi'ince. whose statue is seated under a towering can- 
oj)y. To defray the expense of this, the government 
assisted, while offerings came from the poorest to the 
richest tf) the amount of six hundred thousand dol- 
lars. " Rotten Row " is a long and beautiful dri\'c 
in this ])ark. the name being ])robabl}- a corru])ti()n 



56 Memories of a Rcd-Lettcr Sninmef. 

of " Rue de Roi." The Kensington Museum is of 
great interest. We especially noticed a skeleton of 
an immense deer, found in an Irish bog. 

London Bridge is the most crowded highway in 
the world. Of course we must cross it, and so we 
viewed the palaces and art galleries, the monuments 
of great men and the far-reaching charities of devoted 
women. Each has a charm. On the Thames Vic- 
toria embankment stands one of the numerous obe- 
lisks which have been taken from Egypt, known as 
'' Cleopatra's Needle." This one was presented to 
King George IV. by Mehemet Ali, ruler of Egypt. 
It is a single block of red granite, covered with hiero- 
glyphics. In order to transport it to B'ngland an iron 
vessel was expressly built. It passed safely through 
the Mediterranean, but in the Bay of Biscay parted 
from its tug. It was found afterwards, and towed 
into a Spanish port, where it remained three months 
for repairs, when a powerful tug was sent from Eng- 
land, and the great obelisk was safely landed and 
set up. 



„,,«..^«W'3^' 




■< 



CHAPTER V. 

SHAKESPEARE'S HOME — ANCIENT MONASTERIES — 
EDINBURGH — ROSSLYN CASTLE — SIR WAL- 
TER SCOTT— MELROSE ABBEY- 
ROBERT BURNS. 

Stratford-on-Avon, the liome of the immortal 
Shakespeare, the great Mecca of hterary pilgrims, is 
a typical English town, with agricultural surround- 
ings. We were told that curfew rings and the town 
crier proclaims tidings of importance. We went at 
once to the Red Horse Inn for lunch, the old build- 
ing under whose roof many distinguished visitors 
to Siiakespeare's home have rested. We entered 
through an arch into a stable yard, recalling some of 
Dickens' sketches. It was clean and tidy, and on 
either side there were rooms and ofhces. We were 
shown into the a])artmenl ()ccu])ied by our own com- 
patriot, Washington Ir\-ing, during his x'isit here. A 
large chair was inscribed with his name, and the \er\- 
poker was called " GeolTrcy Craxon's scci)tcr." C )f 
course v^hakespeare's is the master spirit that i)er- 
vades the town. At his home we \-isited the room in 
which he was born, the kitchen or li\ing rooui. u]) 
the stairs, and all around the humble home, where 
his genius de\elo])ed and ga\e to the world those 



58 Memories of a Red-Letter Suuimer. 

writings that have never been equalled. On the 
queer little window-panes, as well as over the walls, 
are scratched the names of many who came to pay 
tribute at his shrine. His desk, books and old sur- 
roundings are religiously preserved by a Board of 
Trustees, who take care of his relics, his dwelling and 
that of Anne Hathaway, the old grammar school, the 
church in which we saw his baptismal record in 1564, 
the font and his tomb. A fine memorial theater has 
been erected for the enaction of his plays on the 
banks of the Avon, with valuable library and picture 
gallery attached. 

The Gower monument contains exquisite statues 
of some of his heroes and heroines, while our own 
George W. Childs has here erected a fountain and a 
clock tower with appropriate Shakespearean quota- 
tions. 

Here, in the old Trinity Church, Americans have 
a window illustrating- by Scriptural subjects the 
" Seven Ages of Man." We stood by Shakespeare's 
tomb, to the left of the altar, and read his last 
injunction: 

" Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbeare 
To digg the dust enclosed heare ; 
Blest be ye man yt spares th's stones. 
And curst be he yt moves my bones." 

His bust, said to be from a death mask, is above his 




CO 



K 



X 



Shakcsf^carc's Home — .liicicnt Moiiasfcrics. 59 

grave, and, undenicntb, a I.atin inscrii)li()n, which, 
interpreted, reads: " The earth covers, the jieople 
mourn, and Paradi.se possesses him, who was in jud.g- 
ment a Nestor, in intellect a Socrates, and in art a 
Virgil." The tablet to his wife's memory reads: 
" Here lyeth interred the body of Anne, wife of 
William Shakespeare, who de]:)arted this life the sixth 
day of August, 1623, being of the age of sixty-seven 
years." This is followed by a Latin inscription. This 
church is but another instance of the ancient Cath- 
olic pro])erty seized, des])oiled, confi.^'cated. It was 
formerl}- connected with the Abbey Evesham, and 
ser\ed by a college of priests. The Dean Balsall, 
who relmilt some of the older parts, died in 1401, 
and is l)uried here. I^ike all old churches, the Holy 
Water stou]) is at the door and at x'aricnis other 
places; and on the door is the ancient knocker with 
ring, such as were found where sanctuary was ac- 
corded. Three niches ox'cr the door renu'nd us of 
the dedication to the Trinity, but the statues which 
once occu])ied them shared the fate of other sacred 
symbols. Tlie old oaken stalls .are (juaintly car\-e<l, 
and tile stone slab of the altar was recently found and 
restored to its t'oruK-r ])ositiou. At the end of one 
aisle is a ch.apel to Si. Thomas of C'anterbui'w 

The cdun"ch\ard is txpicalb- I'jiglish ;niil lilled with 
gra\-es. The old i-lnis ha\-e lonu' been tlu- hauiUs of 



6o Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

hundreds of rooks, and one yew is several hundred 
years old. I did not intend to describe the American 
window, as it gave me the impression of disrespect 
to sacred subjects, and I regretted that our country 
should be thus represented; but I will do so, as others 
may not share my ideas. The "Seven Ages of Alan" 
are thus depicted: 

Moses in the bulrushes, " The infant, muling and 
puking in its nurse's arms." 

Samuel, " The schoolboy, creeping, like a snail, 
unwillingly to school." 

Jacob, " The lover, with sonnet to his mistress' 
eyebrow." 

Joshua, " The soldier, bearded like the Pard." 

Solomon, "■ The justice, full of wise saws and 
modern instances." 

Abraham, " The lean and sHppered pantaloon." 

Isaac, " The last scene of all, sans eyes, sans teeth, 
sans everything." 

Anne Hathaway's cottage is much visited and 
kept well preserved. Shakespeare, as a lover, made 
a very happy play on the words of her name: 

" To meet the sad, make blithe be gay, 
To charm all hearts, Amie Hathaway; 
She hath a way, Anne Hathaway, 
To breathe delight, Anne hath a way." 

Marie Correlli resides in Stratford, and has started 




u 



Shakcsf>carc's Home — .liiciciif Monasteries. 6i 

a movement to oro-anize Shakespearean chil)s all over 
the world, with hea'l(|narter.s here, beliex'ing" such a 
federation would inspire more appreciation of the 
poet's works. 

A few miles from Stratford stands Warwick 
Castle, with its picturesciue view^s and priceless art 
treasures. Near this route lies Banbury Cross, to 
which Mother Goose has danced all the babies for 
years; and Oxford University, with its pile of build- 
ings, founded by King" Alfred, and the center of 
scholarly interest. Many of our tourist companions 
stopped here to visit the famed seat of learning. The 
whole world of scholars will soon unite in honoring 
Alfred the Great on his one thousandth anniversary. 
By strength of arms he brought peace to his cotm- 
try. and for fifteen years he strove to repair the 
waste of years of strife. A present-day eulogist says: 
" Throughout all the land that owned his rule. Saxon 
craftsmen were at work and public buildings rose, he 
in\iting to his realm sk"illed \vorkmcn, that his people 
might benctlt from their knowledge. Religion was 
fostered, and the monks, as sole repositors of learn- 
ing, prospered under Alfred's enlightened patronage. 
So great was his zeal for the study of literatm-e that 
some of his nobles found their subnn'ssion irksome. 

" Ihit the 1 )anes broke loose again, and resistance 
to their inxasions made him nmch trouble. When 



62 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

he died, he had sown the seeds of learning, for the 
harvest of which the reapers are still at work." 

England, Ireland and Scotland abound in old 
churches and sacred spots desecrated and appropri- 
ated by those to whom might makes right. One of 
these is at Glastonbury, which, tradition says, was 
founded by Joseph of Arimathea, whose stafif, stuck 
in the ground, grew and blossomed always on Christ- 
mas day. A fanatical Puritan cut it down, but the 
spot is marked by a stone. Slips of the thorn have 
been taken to other places; one is known to be still 
thriving in the grounds of the Wells Cathedral. 

The author of llie Origin of tlic British Nation says 
of Glastonbury: " It stands alone among English 
Minsters as the one link which does really bind us 
to the ancient church of the Briton and the Roman." 
The last Abbot stood up against the robbery of 
Henry VIII., who in turn confiscated this property, 
and the brave Abbot was dragged out, hanged, drawn 
and quartered. In ihe crypt, in the time of Henry II., 
was found a coffin containing the bones of a large 
man, and the smaller ones and golden hair of a 
woman. The coffin was inscribed: His jacct, sepnltus 
inclytis, Rex Arthur ns, in insula Avalonia. So Arthur 
was not, after all, a myth. Another shrine, so dear 
to the Catholic heart, is that of the Canterbury Cathe- 
dral, the foundation dating back even before St. 



Sliakcsf'carc's Hojiic — Ancient Monasteries. 63 

Augustine. Under him the site was created cathe- 
dral and monastery. After the murder of St. Thomas 
a-Becket on the altar, and his burial here, the shrine 
was made most magnificent by pious offerings. 
Thomas Cromwell, under Henry V'lIL, destroyed 
the shrine, confiscated the treasure and burned the 
body. The pavement is worn by the knees of pil- 
grims. The old Winchester Cathedral shared the 
same fate. Under the Tower is an old tomb, reputed 
to l)e that of William Rufus. Six mortuary chests 
contain the remains of Ethelwolf, Canute. Egbert, 
and other early kings unidentified, as also the body 
and shrine of St. Swithin; while in the church of 
St. Swithin, in London, is preserved the lapis miliaris 
of Roman days, from wluch distances were calculated. 

In an old l)ook in mv liljrary I have read an ac- 
count of the finding of the body of King John in 
Worcester Cathedral. The book is of 17Q7, aiid re- 
cords that " on Monday, in beginning the repairs of 
our Cathedral, the body of the King, which had 
been (le])Osited in 1216, was discovered." and goes 
on with full description, reading, after o\-er one hun- 
dred years, like an item from a morning ])aper of the 
twentieth century. 

The Ely Cathedral, dating back to 1083, contains 
also many old and interesting tombs, and has been 
added to and iniprn\(Ml through the centuries. .Vt 



64 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

Ely the Saxons made their last stand in 1071. The 
Oxford Cathedral is of the same antiquity. In one 
of the old stained windows a Puritan trooper struck 
out the head of the figure of St. Thomas of Canter- 
bury, and one of plain glass has been substituted. 

Peterborough Cathedral was founded in 656 at- 
tached to a Benedictine Monastery. Here the mar- 
tyred Mary, Queen of Scots, reposed until her son 
James removed her body to Westminster. Here lies 
Catherine of Aragon, first victim of Henry YHI.'s 
apostasy. In 1643 the Puritans destroyed the fine 
stained gdass windows and desecrated the tombs. 
Some English ladies have placed here a slab bearing 
the single name " Mary " to mark the spot where 
Mary, Queen of Scots, rested. York Cathedral goes 
back to 627, and Chester to pre-Roman period. Car- 
lisle Cathedral is of the time of William Rufus, mod- 
ernized, of course, and here Sir Walter Scott was 
married. Owing to its strategic position, the ancient 
town of Carlisle has witnessed many stormy scenes 
for centuries. The beautiful Salisbury Cathedral 
dates back to 1220; St. Osmond, 1079; Chichester, 
1085; and Lingard says that "Battle Abbey of the 
Benedictines was founded by William the Norman in 
performance of a vow that he would build one on the 
spot where God should give him victory at the battle 
of Hastings in 1066. It was originally called St. 



Shakespeare's Home — Aiicieiif Monasteries. 65 

Martin's, where perpetual ])rayers were to be offered 
for all who fell there in battle." The altar is on the 
spot where Harold fell. Henry VIII. seized and pre- 
sented it to one of his officers at the Reformation. 
The ]:)nrchase of the Abbey is now being considered 
b}' one of our countrymen, who has transferred his 
allegiance to England. He is said to crave royal 
notice, and is anxious to acquire ancient properties. 
The ])resent owner sa\'S the black marble staircase is 
worn and hacked l)y the heels and swords of the Cru- 
saders. Rochester Cathedral was founded by St. 
Augustine. So on for pages might we continue the 
mere sketch of these buildings, sanctiued by iM'ayers 
and alms, and again desecrated by covetous fanati- 
cism. W'e had not the pleasure of visiting all these 
places, but studied them with interest. The old 
cathedrals and historic churches of England are 
numberless. 

A night's ride from London brings us to Edin- 
1)urgh. The Castle was imposing, on its high rock, 
and on our way to visit it we passed by the magnifi- 
cent Gothic memorial to Scotland's famed son, the 
great Sir Walter Scott. His statue is in a sitting 
])()sition, with his fa\'orite dog Be\'is beside him. 
Ixeaching the top of Castle 11 ill. we alighted to enter 
the gates, and here met a pretty sight. .\ company 
of soldiers, in their picturesque Highland costume 



66 Memories of a Red-Lefter Suimiier. 

and led by the shrill bagpipes, passed rapidly by us, 
evidently amused at our curious American gaze. A 
tiny chapel interested us much. It was built by 
St. Margaret, the Queen of Malcolm, daughter of 
Edward the Outlaw and mother of David, " who, 
oftener on her knees than on her feet, died every day 
she lived." We tried to imagine the scene, when, 
after long watching for her husband and sons away 
at the wars, she entered this little chapel, and press- 
ing the holy Rood to her breast, so received the 
tidings brought by her son Ethelred of the death of 
his father and brothers, and her cry: " I thank thee, 
Lord, that givest me this agony to bear in my death 
hour." 

Near by, on the ramparts, stands the immense 
g'un, '' Mons Meg," with which many traditions are 
connected; it is held in much respect by the people. 
And here, also, is the grate for ancient beacon fires. 
The crown room is a small place of great strength, 
and contains the famed regalia of Scotland, consist- 
ing of crowns, scepter and sword of state. Sir Wal- 
ter Scott traces the crown back to Bannockburn, 
when Robert Bruce wore an open crown over his 
helmet, which crown is the foundation of the present 
one. The scepter contains precious stones dating 
back to Druidical days. So much political conten- 
tion existed concerning the Scottish regalia, that, to 



Shokcsf^carc's Home — Ancient Monasteries. 67 

preser\'e it, it was concealed for a hundred years. 
Around the rooms of Queen Mary ckister saddest 
memories. A smaH chamber is shown wliere her son, 
afterwards James VI. of Scotland and I. of England, 
was born, and the window o\'er the high steep rock, 
down which as an infant he was lowered in a basket 
and taken to Castle Stirling. For many hundred 
vears Edinburgh Castle was the scene of contention, 
and once, in 1650, Cromwell captured it. 

Holyrood Palace was once an Al)bey, founded by 
King David. The chronicles say that it was erected 
as a repository for the holy Rood*be(|ueathed by 
Queen Margaret to her sons, and was the scene of 
learning and pious study in the midst of the rude sur- 
roundings. The relic was for ages considered as the 
palladium (^f Scotland. The history of the .Abbey 
from its foundation., for manv years, is \-irtu<'dl}' the 
history of Scotland, for here kings and (pieens were 
entertained, crowned and married — ^ among them, 
poor Mary, Queen of Scots, to the weak Darnley, — 
until at the Rcfc^rmation it went the wa\- of other 
religious houses. Entering the palace, we passed 
through a long and interesting picture gallery into 
Eorfl Darnley's apartments, where there are again 
many portraits and some ancient tapestrv, on which 
expert needle women were making rej)airs as it hung 
on the walls. P>ut most we cared for the \'iew of 



68 Memories of a Red -Letter Summer. 

Queen Mary's apartments. We passed through the 
audience chamlDcr, and it seemed haunted with the 
shades of Mary and her rude opponent, John Knox, 
who, frequently here, contended roughly with his 
gentle young Queen. He was not content to thunder 
against her from the pulpit, but privately insulted her 
faith, and by his abuse stirred up trouble against her, 
and made of her short reign a season of terror. Pos- 
terity is gradually awarding to this unhappy Queen 
the justice so long denied her; and one has only to 
read James Meline's excellent and painstaking refu- 
tation of Froud^'s attacks in his Mary, Queen of Scots, 
and Her Latest English Historian, to see in its true 
light this period of history. I must insert here a few 
lines from a letter written by Mary to Elizabeth in 
the fourteenth year of her captivity, as showing the 
cruel suffering of mind she endured: " The vilest 
criminals in your prisons, borne under obedience to 
you. are permitted to justify themselves, and to know 
both their accusers and their charges. Why, then, 
should not the same order be taken with me, a sover- 
eign, your nearest relative and lawful heiress. Your 
prison, without any right or just cause, has already 
destroyed my body; there remains only to me my 
soul, which is beyond your power to make captive." 
For twenty years she languished in prison, after 
throwing herself on the protection of Elizabeth, be- 




•Mauv, Qukux or Scots. 



SJiakcsf'carc's Home — .liiciciif Monasteries. 69 

fore she was at last led to the l)lock. liven here the 
consolations of her own religion were denied her. 
Declinini^- what her conscience revolted against, she 
prayed for her son, for Elizalieth, for Scotland, lier 
enemies and herself, and with crncifix in hand ex- 
claimed: ■■ As tliy arms, () God, were stretched ont 
npon the cross, so receive me into the arms of tliv 
mercy, and forgive me my sins." Then kneeling hy 
the hlock: " Into thy hands. O Lord, I commit my 
spirit." Here is the last prayer of Mary. Oneen of 
Scots, written in her prayer-])ook the morning before 

her execntion: 

Translated. 

" O Domine Deus, " Oh, my Lord and 1113^ God, 

Speravi in te. I Iiave trusted in Thee. 

O, Care mi Jcsii, Oh, Jesu.s, my love, 

Nunc libera me. Now liberate me. 

In dura catena. In my enemies' power. 

In misera poena, In affliction's sad hour, 

Desidero Te. I languish for Thee. 

Langucndo, gemendo. In sorrowing, weeping, 

Et genutlectendo, And bending the knee, 

Adoro, impioro, I adore and implore Thee 

Ut liberes me." To liberate me." 

Ivaising a corner (»f tapestry, we were shown into 
a small room, in which the (Jiiecn sal at her supper 
(in the fatal night when llu' hrntal assassins rnshed in 
and slabbed Ivizzio in her jiresence. .All know how 
Darnlev held the Queen in her chair, while Ruthven 



70 Memories of a R^d-Letter Summer. 

and others in their rage overturned the table, while 
the trembling victim clung to her skirts, hoping Her 
Majesty might be his protection. We looked down 
the narrow private stairway by which they entered 
and the way by which the bleeding body was dragged. 
The little dressing-room v/as very tiny for a queen's 
robing, and her bed. still standing, has the silken 
hangings dropping from it in decay. The chapel 
royal is the last remnant of the church attached to 
the monastery. We strolled around the ruins, now 
open to the sky, and ende.avored to read some of the 
inscriptions on the tombs and to imagine it at its 
early glory. 

In 1896 Queen Victoria had the relics of her an- 
cestors, the Stuarts, collected and reverently cared 
for, for here the Reformers had also desecrated the 
tombs. As John Knox said' " Pull down the rook- 
eries and the craws will flee awa'." Some stone 
coffins were discovered a few years ago, which were 
supposed to be the tombs of the early monks and 
abbots, probably from the years 1200 and 1300. 

Leaving this interesting spot, we drove through 
the city, and observed on the pavement a heart- 
shaped design, marking the site of the old jail: " The 
Heart of Midlothian." Farther on, in the pave also, 
trodden daily by thousands of busy feet, are the 
initials " J. K.," and here the disturber, John Knox, 



Shakespeare's Home — Ancient Monasteries. 71 

lies buried, as Doctor Johnson wished he should be. 
Knox was no respecter of persons, having the cour- 
age to even refer to Queen Elizabeth as a " weik 
instrument." 

We visited the ancient church of St. Giles, dating 
from 1259. and closely connected with the city's his- 
tory. At the Reformation it was despoiled, and the 
sacred vessels sold to pay for the altering of the build- 
ing" for the convenience of those who seized it from the 
rightful owners. From its stolen pulpit John Knox 
thundered his maledictions, and a tablet in the f^oor 
marks the place where Jeannie Geddis threw her stool 
at the Dean. Here are the tombs of Montrose and 
the Earl of Moray. The tomb of Montrose is very 
beautiful. This Scottish nobleman and soldier had 
left the Presbyterian army and joined the King. He 
defeated the Covenanters in several engagements, but 
\\as finally captured, and after suffering many indig- 
nities, the sentence was executed, that he be hung, 
drawn and quartered and his ashes scattered to the 
n-inds. 

I particularly note this, as the lines are very beau- 
tiful and hopeful, which he scratched on the window 
of his prison with a diamond the night before his 
death: 

" Let them bestow on every airth a limb, 
Then open all my veins, that I may swim 



72 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

To Thee, my Maker ! in that crimson lake ; 

Then place my parboiled head upon a stake ^ 

Scatter my ashes, strew them in the air; 

Lord ! since Thou knowest where all these atoms are, 

I'm hopeful Thou'lt recover once my dust, 

And confident Thou'lt raise me with the just." 

We visited the site of the old Grey Friars' Monas- 
tery, called the Westminster of Scotland, where lie 
many noted personages. On a small column, on the 
street, Lady Burdett Coutts erected a memorial to a 
little dog that died of grief on his master's grave. A 
tablet on a house marks the early home of vScott, and 
a cottage is shown as the residence of his heroine, 
Jeannie Deans. There are many attractions about 
here, among them the Grand Drive, Arthur's Seat, 
St. Bernard's Well, the great Forth Bridge, the re- 
mains of the ancient Dumferline Abbey, where lie 
Queen Margaret and the mother of Wallace, and the 
body of Robert the Bruce, although his heart is in 
Melrose Abbey. 

Now we drive out to Rosslyn Castle, on the banks 
of the romantic Esk. This was founded by Sir Wil- 
liam Sinclair, Lord Rosslyn, Earl of Orkney, whose 
many titles "might weary a Spaniard." He built the 
castle, where he lived in royal splendor, and founded 
a chapel, which is of the most rich and florid Gothic 
stvle of architecture. 



SJiakcsf^carc's Home — .liiciciif Monasfcrics. 73 

Queen X'ictoria, on the occasion of a ^'isit here 
many years ago, requested that " so unique a gem 
should be preserved to the country." h contains the 
''apprentice pillar,'' of which the story is told that the 
architect in charge, despairing of producing a pillar 
according to orders, went to Rome for farther study. 
In his absence an apprentice undertook and com- 
pleted the beautiful work, and on the master's return 
he was so consumed by jealous rage that he struck 
the apprentice a death blow. 

At the Reformation the Laird was summoned to 
destroy the altars and statues. Remonstrance was of 
no a^-ail; the orders must be obeyed; the emblems of 
his faith came down; whereupon the chronicles tell 
us " the general, provincial and Presbyterian assem- 
blies were fully satisfit, for which the brethren praysit 
God." 

His son, vSir William, was buried in the chapel on 
the very da\- that the l)attle of Dunbar was fought. 
Tradition says that on the death of a member of the 
family, the cha]:)cl seems on (ire \vherc the former 
knights were buried in their armor. Sir Walter 
Scott says: 

" Seemed all on fire that chapel proud, 
Wlurc Rosslyn's chiefs uncoriined lie. 
Each baron for a sable shroud 
Sheathed in his iron panoply." 
(4) 



74 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

The " chapel fire " legends were, perhaps, imported 
by the Earls of Orkney, as tomb fires are mentioned 
in most of the Sagas. 

We approached the castle by a bridge and along 
the wildest precipices. We were guided through the 
ancient rooms, down into the dungeons and soldiers' 
rooms, built on the solid rock. We marked the 
places for arrows to be shot through, and the great 
yew at the entrance, from wliich arrows were made, 
which we could readily believe was, as we were told, 
eight hundred years old. This magnificent structure 
was often besieged and repaired, but the worst dam- 
age was done by that portion of Cromwell's arm.y 
under General Monk, when they stabled their horses 
in the lovely chapel. Like all old ruins, it has a 
legend, which says great treasure is buried in one of 
the vaults, guarded by a lady of the ancient house. 
When she shall be awakened from her long slumber 
by the sound of a trumpet, she will point out the 
treasure. The precipices along the banks of the Esk 
are clothed with verdure, and the whole of Rosslyn 
Glen is sublimely beautiful. One should visit these 
places with Scott's poems in hand. Of this he says: 

" Through woods more fair, no stream more sweet 
Rolls to the eastern main." 

Hawthornden. near by, is closely connected also 
with early history. Sir Walter has preserved, in his 



Shakespeare's Hone — Aiicie)if Monasteries. .75 

matchless fiction, ninch of the lore of these old ]>laces. 
We had the ])leasnre of visiting' his home at Abl)Ots- 
ford. of which some one has said: "A visit to Abbots- 
ford would make an oyster enthusiastic." This home 
seemed part of himself. Here he planted nearly all 
the trees, and the place was doul)ly endeared to him. 
that by the failure of his bankers he was compelled 
to redouble his exertions to save it. Of this period 
he wrote: " I have walked the last time on the do- 
mains I have planted, sat the last time in the halls I 
have built. I find my eyes moistening; but this will 
not do; I will not yield without a fight for it. In 
prosperous times I have sometimes felt my fancy and 
powers of language dag, but ads'ersity, to me, is a 
tonic and a bracer." Then came failing health and 
the loss of his loverl wife; yet in two years his fertile 
pen brought to him f^rtv thousand pounds. All 
honored and loved him. and he jokingly alluded to 
the liDUiirs ]);ii(l him: " W hal a tail of the al])babet I 
should draw after me if I were to sign with the indi- 
cations of the dift'erent societies I belong to." The 
collection of curios would seem to be the work of a 
lifetime, outside of his literary labors and the time he 
gave to otiiers. The studw with his chair, desk and 
books; the many paintings; the last suit worn by him 
ere he expired and was laid in the beautiful and \-en- 
erable Drxburgh Abbe\'. were all of nnich interest. 



76 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

Among the curios we particularly noted the key 
of the old Tolbootli Jail, the '' Heart of Mid- 
lothian," the genuine Genevra casket, and the cru- 
cifix held in the hand of Mary, Queen of Scots, at her 
execution; Rob Roy's gun, a pistol found in Napo- 
leon's carriage after Waterloo, the portal and key of 
old Tolbooth, Marie Antoinette's clock, and number- 
less other articles of value to a collector. The armor 
and hundreds of priceless curios, collected by the 
great novelist, would require pages to describe. The 
present owner of the home is his kinswoman, Mrs. 
Maxwell Scott, whose husband adopted the family 
name, as there was no male heir. She has written 
most interestingly of the home and its contents, 
besides other works. 1 understand that she is a 
Catholic convert. 

Melrose Abbey, near by, was much beloved by 
Scott, and is one of the most beautiful of ruins. It 
was founded in 1136 by St. David. Here lie the re- 
mains of Michael Scott, the wizard, whose book of 
magic is said to be buried with him; and the heart 
of Bruce, where it was deposited after an unsuccessful 
attempt to carry it, according to his wishes, to the 
Holy Land. Sir James Douglas was chosen to exe- 
cute this pious wish, and with Sir William Sinclair, of 
Rosslyn, and other noblemen, started to Jerusalem; 
but learning that the King of Castile was engaged in 




" Hour, AloN." 



Shakes/Scare's Home — .liieieiif .^foiiastcrics. 



II 



war with the ]\Ioors. and wishing- to take part in what 
he considered a 'hoi}' \\-arfare, he joined the King's 
forces. Pursuing the iiying enemy with too much 
ardor, he was surrounded l\v them, ^^•hen, taking 
from Ills lx)som the casket which contained the heart 
of Bruce, he cast it from him, and exclaimed: " Now 
pass onward, as thou were wont, and Douglas will 
follow thee, or die." He fell in death. His l)ody 
and the casket were found the next day on the battle- 
field, and the heart was consigned to Melrose Abbey, 
while the Douglas was buried with his family. A 
noble companion. Sir .Simon Lee. was the custodian 
of both to Scotland. In the Abbey also lie Alexan- 
der Second and his Queen. Joanna, and man}- vener- 
able clergy and noble warriors. Here Sir Walter was 
wont to spend many hours in meditation, and in his 
Lay of the Last }finsli-el he has woven many memo- 
ries. The villagers will ])oint this or that place as 
" Sir Walter's favorite seat." He has described its 
cxf|uisitc traceries and scrolls, " that teach thee to 
live and die," and bids us — 

"If thou wouldst view fair Melrose right, 
Go visit it by the pale moonlight ; 
Then go. but go alone the while. 
To view Saint David's ruined pile. 
And home returning, soothly swear 
Was never scene so sad and fair." 



yS Memories of a Red-I,etfer Summer. 

But now we must take our departure, hoping 
some time to repeat our visit here, and go also to 
Burns' country, to the banks and braes of " Bonnie 
Doon," the ''Auld Brig," the scene of. Tarn O'Shan- 
ter's ride; the Alloway's- haunted Kirk, the Castle of 
Montgomery, and the home of Highland Mary, who 
inspired his tender verse, "To Mary in Heaven" : 

" Thou lingering star, with lessening ray, 
That lovest to greet the early morn, 
Again thou usherest in the day, 

When Mary from my soul was torn." 

Truly, poets are born, not made, for from the home 
of the humble plow-boy have come some of the ten- 
derest and sweetest songs as well as cutting satires. 
Returning to London, we prepared to visit Ire- 
land. 



CHAPTER VI, 

DUBLIN — O'CONNELL — EMMET — GLASNEVIN — 

DROGHEDA — CROMWELL — FROUDE — 

FATHER TOM BURKE. 

From London we leave for Holyhead, to cross the 
Irish Sea. There is a popular saying- that only fools 
and Americans travel first-class, as in Europe the 
trains are first, second and third class. We are con- 
tent to be classed among the fools, as even the first- 
class is snfificiently comfortless; and as for " lug- 
gage." our English cousin seems to wish to have all 
his impedimenta of travel crowded around him where 
he can view it, regardless of the convenience of his 
fellow travelers. The umbrellas, canes and " gowf " 
sticks, the rugs, hat boxes and bags, that accompany 
him, and with his high hat set firmly on his head, 
make him a character. 

The guard, or conductor, runs along the side of 
the train, locks you in your compartment, gives a 
whistle, aufl off you are. Arriving at your destina- 
tion, )'ou must look out for your own baggage, and 
then they will pile it all on ^•our conveyance, until, as 
we tra\'cled from our station in Dublin to our hotel, 
we felt like i^art and parcel of the contents of a great 
mo\'ing van. En route to Tlnlyhearl we passed. 



8o Memories of a Red-Lctter Siiiiuner. 

among- other noted spots, the Castle Conway, an 
immensely solid structnre, dating back to about 
1284, erected by King Edward. From Holyhead to 
Dublin we had a chilly, sickening passage, soon for- 
gotten, though, when we found ourselves comfort- 
ably settled on Erin's shores. Opposite our hotel in 
Stephen's Green we strolled and sat to observe the 
new surroundings. 

On Sackville Street, the great thoroughfare, are 
a number of monuments, notably one to Father 
Mathew, the a]wstle of temperance, who visited our 
own country on his missic^n about fifty years ago. 
Truly, the good men do li^■es after ihem, and the 
seed sown In* this earnest Irish priest has thriven and 
blossomed and borne goc^d fruit. At the end of the 
O'Connell Bridge, across the Liffey, stands a fine 
statue of William Smith O'Brien, the great Irish 
leader. Statues are erected to Tom Moore, whose 
songs have delighted the world, and to Burke and 
Goldsmith. 

The library of Trinity College contains many val- 
uable works — the Books of Kells, of Darrow, and of 
Armagh, and a Book of Leinster in the Irish lan- 
guage. Referring tc^ the Book of Kells as an ex- 
ample of ancient Irish art. I shall quote a sentence 
here and there of an article written several years ago 
to the iYczc York Sun bv Rev. Bernard O'Reillv: " In 



Dublin — 0' Council — Eninicf — Cromn^ell. 8i 

the library of Trinity College, where there are pre- 
served wonderful remains of ancient Irish art, I had 
come to behold with ni}' own eyes and touch with my 
own hands the book of Kells. the copy of the four 
Gospels, written and exc|uisitely illuminated by the 
great Saint Columbkille, thirteen hundred years ago. 
The city of Kells grew up early in the ninth century, 
whien the Northmen first swooped down on lona and 
forced the sons of Saint Cohmiba to take refuge on 
the neighboring island, among their own kinfolk. 
Kells grew up aroimd tlie monastery they founded in 
North Meath. And there, after the suppression of 
the monasteries. Usher, first appointed Bishop of 
Meath. and afterwards Bishop of Armagh, found this 
book, antl be(|ueathed it. with his library, to Trinity 
College. Here it is before me, incomparably beau- 
tiful! No wonder that people who looked upon this 
exquisitely formed writing sliould have said, in* their 
despair of reproducing anything like it, that ' it was 
the work of an angel.' " After an attempted descrip- 
tion, he arlds: ' I must despair of conveying to the 
reader, even were I master of word-painting, anything 
like a correct j^icture of this magnificent specimen of 
Christian rui. ICxamined with a magnifying glass, 
every tracing is sim])ly perfect. The fancy which 
guided the hruid tl.at traced these lines seems to be 
one of exhaustless \:u'iet\' in its designs; the hand 



82 Mejuorics of a Rcd-Letter Summer, 

itself must have been ]:)OSsessed of a skill of which no 
modern artist or penman could boast. These infin- 
itely correct and delicate traceries are not to be found 
outside of the Celtic schools, where Irish scholars 
kindled the flame of learning" from the fifth to the 
ninth century." 

The harp of Brian Born, the Irish king who fell 
in battle in 1014, is also shown. Moore eulogizes his 
reign in the poem, " f^ich and rare were the gems she 
wore," when one could, in those troubled times, 
travel in perfect safety all over the realm. Dublin is 
rich in libraries and museums. In Phoenix Park, 
once a part of Kilmainham Priory, is an ancient 
cromlech, and the curious note the pillar that marks 
the spot where Burke and Cavendish were murdered, 
and also the dueling groimd. Glasnevm Cemetery 
contains a magnihcent monument to the great liber- 
ator,- O'Connell, a round tower one hundred and fifty 
feet high. He died in 1847, '^i''^ bequeathed his 
" body to Ireland, heart to Rome, and soul to hea- 
ven." He was deservedly the idol of his people; his 
character was the purely ideal Irish type, witty and 
fearless, and his eloquent tongue gave rapid utter- 
ance to the emotions that stirred his noble heart, 
magnetizing the sympathies of his listeners. His 
monument in the city is a noble one, surmounted by 
his statue, while around it are grouped figures sym- 



Dublin — O'CohucU — liiiniicf — Cro]iiii'cU. 83 

holizin^- liis marked traits. iMdclity, Courai^c, Elo- 
(|ueiice, and Patriotism. I lis heloN'CMl coiintv)- is rep- 
resented by a female ti<;ure, ])()intini;- to liim as her 
liberator, while in the other hand she holds the 
emancipation l)ill. 

The ])oet Mani;an, the statesman C'nrr;ui. and 
scnlptor lloL;an lie here. The t^raxe t)f Charles Par- 
nell attracts nuich attention, and shows loving" care. 
The plat surrounding it is covered with memorial 
wreaths under glass. Near here is the grave of 
I>arry Sullivan, surmounted by a beautiful statue of 
liim as Hamlet. 

Kilmainham llospital, founded in 1 174, is not far 
from the Kilmainham Jail, wliich is well remem- 
bered by the present generation as the place of deten- 
tion of political offenders. The jail is dark, damp 
and gloomy. We were told that often ])eople in 
passing make the sign of the cross, with the words: 
Ma)' (jod in his merey keep me and mine from all 
harm. .Amen." Charles I'arnell was im|)risone(| here 
for holding up to execration the system of Irish land- 
lordism, declaring it the cm'se of this fair laud. We 
were shown the house where the patriot, i'jnmet, was 
ca])tured, and in huhlin he was executed. He is 
supposed to he buried in (ilasnexin C'emeter\', where 
a nameless gra\e is shown, as according to his own 
re(|ucst no man should write his c'ljitapii niUil Ireland 



84 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

should be free. This recalls the pathetic story of the 
lady of his love, of whom Moore's lines were written: 
" She is far from the land where her young hero 
sleeps." He was well born, but his heart burned 
with indignation at the sight of the indignities suf- 
fered by the poorer class, and with true patriotic 
ardor he resented their oppression. He sacrificed all 
on the altar of his country, even his life, and greater 
love than this no man could show. His speech, on 
being found guilty of treason, is a masterpiece of 
oratory, and one of the most touching appeals to 
posterity. When asked what he had to say — I give 
a sentence here and there — ^ he replied: 

" I have nothing to say which can alter your predetermina- 
tion. When my shade shall have joined those martyred heroes, 
who have shed their blood on the scaffold and in the field in 
defense of their country and of virtue, I wish that my memory 
and name may animate those who survive me. I appeal to God 
and to the murdered patriots who have gone before, and I con- 
fidently hope there is still strength and union in Ireland to 
accomplish her emancipation. If the spirits of the illustrious 
dead participate in the cares and concerns of those who were 
dear to them in this transitory life, oh, ever dear and venerated 
shade of my departed father, look down with scrutiny on the 
conduct of your suffering son, and see if I have for a moment 
deviated from those principles of morality and patriotism which 
it was your care to instill into my youthful mind, and for which 
I am now to offer up my life. I have but one request to make 
at my departure from this w'orld : it is the charity of its silence. 
Let no man write my epitaph, for as no man, who knows my 



Dublin — O'CointclI — Bin met — Croiirarll. 85 

motives, dares now to vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignor- 
ance asperse them. When my country takes her place among 
the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my epitaph 
be written." 

We drove out to Donnybrook, which name has 
ahvays been connected with shillelahs and l)roken 
heads, but it is now a quiet Httle village, the fairs 
having been abolished. The Hill of Howth, at the 
entrance of the bay, contains a castle, church, and 
cairn, reputed to be the tomb of one of the early 
kings, and one said to be that of the wife of Oscar, 
son of Ossian, dying of grief for her husband, who 
fell in the l^attle near Tara. Here, also, is a small 
rocky island, called Ireland's Eye, noted as the last 
stand of the Danish invaders in the beginning of the 
eleventh century. Tara's Hill we were obliged to 
leave for a hoped-for future visit, for it is not the 
place to be visited carelessly, surrounded as it is by 
sacred traditions, as also the land of St. Columba. 
vSt. Patrick's Cathedral is said to have been founded 
by the saint himself. His well, from which he bap- 
tized his converts, was here, but has been closed. 
This church was scixed, with hundreds of others, 
from the rightful owners, and the old faith is no 
longer i)racticed here. We noticed a has relief to 
"Carolan, the last of the Bards," and tablets to Dean 
Swift and his Stella. Swift's earlv childhood's cir- 



86 Memories of a Rcd-Lcttcr Sii miner. 

ciitustanccs cnibittorecl liiiii. lie kept his birtlulavs 
sad, instead of rejoicing, readitio- in ]o\) and lament- 
ing' " the day a man child is born." ble was secretly 
married to Stella; and once, while contemplating a 
decaying' elm, predicted that he also shconld " die at 
the top." His reason ilid give way. lie left a for- 
tm\e of ten thonsand ponnds for a Innatic asylum in 
Dublin. 

'■ Ho loft tho littlo woalth lio had 
To build a house for fools or mad, 
To show, by cmic satiric touch. 
No nation wanted ono so much." 

His epitaph reads: " Here lies the bc^dy of Jonathan 
Swift, ]\\m of this Catlunlral, where bitter indigna- 
tion can no more lacerate his heart. Go, traveler, 
ami, so far as thou art able, imitate this strenuous 
aiU'ocate of liberty." With all Swift's bitterness, he 
luul the fine feeling to place a tablet in the church in 
memor)- of his faithful scrx-aut, Alexnutler McGee. 
'The eminent John PhilptH <.\u"ran also has a monu- 
ment here. CrcMuwcll's men made a Ixarrack of this 
oUl chtu'ch. Christ's Church Cathedral has about the 
same history, fouud.cd in I he elex'cnth century. St. 
Lawrence O'Toole and Strongbow aitled in its erec- 
tion, ami Slrongbow's tomb and that of his A\-ife, Kx'a, 
arc here. St. Patrick's sialT was among the relics 
here. The Norman Stroni:Tun\'s tomb is marked hv 



Dublin — O' Co II II ell — li III met — Cromxvcll. ^"j 

a stone elTii^^y, while beside it is one of half length, 
supposed to he that of his son, whom, it is said, he 
cut in two for some ofl'ense. 

The eountry is fidl of prehistoric ruins; round 
towers, tunuili. and cromlechs, or supposed Druids' 
altars; raths or royal hills, such as Tara, and great 
Irish crosses. From Dublin we drive out to a re- 
markal)le charitable institution, a hospital for the 
dying. " Each bringeth here his cross, that no one 
shares." "Notwithstanding the knowledge that they 
were here but awaiting death, nearly all seem cheer- 
ful, antl to appreciate the privilege of being under the 
care of the kind religious, who certainly do all they 
can to smooth the way for them, until the summons, 
' Come, the Master wills it so.' " 

"And rests him hero so sweet, and Idiihwilh fares 
(Jut 111 tile iii;^lu. the starli<;ht nii^lit, again." 

" Yon wish him (M)(ls])ccd as a frit-nd on land watches 
the dei)arlurc of an cxploi'cr of llic iniknowii seas." 
We were taken through the beauliful park sur- 
rounding the mansion of Lord Koberts, or " Little 
Bobs," as the hjiglish aiTi'Ct ionaU'b' cal]i'(| him, then 
commanding in SoiUh Afiica; biU with all the honors 
the government has since lu-apcd npon him, what can 
comfort tlu' ln'.nt ol him wIki mourns a son, as his 
(jnl\' son dird tai' noin Ii()n)r and nioiluM"! 



88 Memories of a Raf -Letter Sii miner. 

From Dublin I took a day to visit the spot once 
occupied bv an ancestor, but the remnants of the old 
castle walls were built into a con\ent, and g'entle nuns 
now teach where once dwelt the Presbyterian soldier 
knioiUed at the siege of Derry. En route we passed 
through Drogheda, on the river Boyne, so famous in 
Ireland's history of contentions between the different 
factions. Moore writes: 

" As vanquished Erin wept beside tlie Boyne's ill fated river, 
She saw where discord in the tide had dropped his loaded 

quiver. 
' Lie hid,' she cried, ' ye venomcd darts, where mortal eye may 

shun you ; 
Lie hid, lor, oh, the stain of hearts that bled for me is on yon.' 
Rxit vain her wish, her weeping vain, as time too well has 

taught her ; 
Each year the tieiul returns again and dives into that water. 
And brings triumphant from beneath his shafts of desolation, 
And sends them, winged with worse than deatli, throughout her 

madding nation. 
Alas ! for her who sits and moiims e'en now beside tliat river. 
Unwearied still, the fiend returns, and stored is still his quiver; 
\\'hcn will this end, 3'e jiowers of Good, she weeping asks 

forever. 
But only hears from out that flood the demon's answer. Never." 

\A'e see this fact demonstrated each year by the 
celebration o{ the battle of the Boyrie, not only in the 
Ih'itish Isles, Init also in some places in this cotmtry. 
1 ha\e iust recei\-ed a letter frcMU a friend in Canada 



Piihliii — O' Council — Lliiiiiicf — Cromwell. 89 

telliiii;' nic of the enioNiiionl of the seene in a ehiirch 
of wliich she is a nieml)er. of the eelchration of the 
iJth of Jul}', when the ( )raiijj'enien niarehed to 
ehureh. L;"uns in liand, to 'j\\<- thanks to (lod for their 
vietory over tlie wretelied Irish. A thousand mem- 
ories of Oliver Cromwell's atrocities came to us at 
Drog'hecla. C'romwell needs no nionnnient to im- 
mortalize his name, the crnnihlinq' ruins of al)l)eys, 
the sacred spots desecrated and defaced all o\'er the 
desolated land, are connected with it. ITis motto 
seemed to be, ''Arise and sla\-."' A present writer 
says: " Cromwell came with his Ironsides to Ireland, 
P)il)le in one hand, sword in the other. Like a tor- 
rent thc\' swept the land, leax'iuL;' in their w.ake blaz- 
ing- homes, ruined altars, hecatombs of slain." Crom- 
well and his men went with psalm-sini^ino^ to their 
butchery, and an example of their fanaticism may be 
seen in the incident wliere a youns;' Puritan, who lay 
dying on the b.-Utlefield, told Cromwell, who bent 
over him, that the one thing th.'it la\' on his spii'it 
was that Ood had not suffered him to be an\- more 
the executioner of his enemies. Cromwell thus men- 
tioned Prince Rupert's men: "Cod made them as 
stubble to our swords." Creen's I fislory of the flii^- 
lisli J\'oplc says: "Among tlu- bitter nu-mories which 
])art Ireland from h'.ngland. the memor\' of the blood- 
shed and confiscation which the Puritans wrout^ht 



go Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

remains the bitterest; and the worst curse that an 
Irish peasant can hurl at his enemy is the ' Curse of 
Cromwell.' Mor© than forty thousand of the beaten 
Irish were permitted to enlist for foreign service, and 
found a refuge in exile under the banners of France 
and Spain. Thousands perished by famine and the 
sword; shipload after shipload were sent over the 
sea for sale in forced labor in Jamaica and the West 
Indies. No such doom has fallen on a nation of 
modern times." 

Cromwell describes his own acts at Drogheda: " I 
forbade them to spare any one in arm.s in the town. 
I think that night they put to the sword about 
two thousand men. Eighty then took refuge in the 
steeple of St. Peter's Church, whereupon 1 ordered 
the steeple to be fired. Of those in one of the towers, 
when they submitted their officers were knocked in 
the head and every tenth soldier killed, the rest 
shipped to Barbadoes. All the friars were knocked 
in the head promiscuously. Of the three thousand 
defendants, we put all to the sword." Then, as if to 
justify himself, he says: " It was done by the Spirit 
of God." Even Thackeray, writing of Drogheda, 
says: " Is not the recollection of this butchery 
enough to make an Irishman turn rebel?" Crom- 
well seized the lands for his own men, banishing the 
rightful owners to the wilds of Connaught. He sent 



Dublin — 0' Co unci! — Bin met — Croniwcll. 91 

eighty thousand men to the sugar j^lantations of the 
Barl:)adoes. and so great were their sufferings that in 
six years hardl}- twenty were left. Mr. Froude says 
that CromweH's mission to Ireland was pacification, 
but the historian ]\Tacaulay says it was to extirpate 
the Irisli. Froude says. " that there was peace and 
the land was a garden." Father Burke replied: 
" Crom\\ell made a solitude and called it peace; his 
garden was a wilderness, five-sixths of the people per- 
ishing. A\"olves increased, until they came within a 
iew miles of Dublin's gates, and a premium was 
offered for their heads." He added in his lecture: 
" He would rather let by-gones be by-gones. but he 
would rise from his deathbed in defense of Ireland." 
This is laudable, but visiting these places and look- 
ing at their history, justice should be attempted, 
and these thoughts possess one at Drogheda. Mr. 
Froude came to America in 1872 to "a])peal," he said, 
"to an American jury for a verdict justifying Eng- 
land's right to occujiv and govern Ireland." Father 
Burke's biographer states that had Froude been 
unopposed, the result would have been dissension 
between Anglo and Irish Americans. Froude was 
scholarly. plausil)le, and had his lectures leisurely pre- 
pared; Father Burke was here on a religious mission 
and under orders from lu's superior. He was impor- 
tuned to re]5ly, but was out of health and unjirepared. 



92 Meinorics of a Rcd-Lcttcr Siiiiuiier. 

A friend offered him the use of his hbrary; so, with 
the borrowed books, his love of couiitrv and the helo 
of God, he undertook and completed the masterly 
effort. The subject had excited great interest, and 
in the Academy of Music in New York, to audiences 
of five thousand people, he delivered five lectures in 
an able, convincing and courteous style. Fair-minded 
people said: "Why, here is an Irish friar fresh from 
the Old Sod, and he could teach you history the rest 
of your life!" I ha\'e in an old scrap-book a synopsis 
of one of his lectures, delivered at this time, every 
word from the depths of his honest, faithful Irish 
heart, vindicating Ireland's claim to the sympathy of 
the world. He AAas the typical Levite, humble and 
obedient as a child, hard working and forgetful of 
self, so full of merry quips and pranks, so gentle 
and tender. How l)eautiful is the climax to one of 
his sermons on the Immaculate Conception! " O 
Mother mine, O Mother of the Church of God, O 
Mother of all nations, O Mother that kept the faith 
in Ireland, that never, through temptation and suf- 
fering, lost her love of thee, I hail thee! As thou art 
in heaven to-nigdit, clothed with the sun of divine 
justice, with the moon beneath thy feet, upon thy 
head a crown of twelve stars, God's brightest gift, I 
hail thee, O Mother!" 

His tribute to Ireland is lovelv: "And I, far awav 



Dublin — 0'Co)i.iicll — Etiuntt — Croiinvcll. 93 

from thy green 1)osoni, hail tliee, as the ])rophet of 
old l:)ehol(hng' the i^lains of the ])roniise(l land, and 
proclaim this da\- there is no land so fair, no si)ot on 
earth to l)e compared with thee, no island rising ont 
of the wave so beautiful as thou, that neither the sun 
nor the moon nor the stars of heax-en shine down 
upon anything so lovely as thee, O Erin!" Such 
was the man who put to confusion the scholarly Init 
prejudiced English historian Froude, who also re- 
ceived some hard whacks from our own James 
Meline, when taking up the cudgel so eti'ecti\-ely in 
defense of Mary, Queen of Scots. 

Air. Fronde's remarkable methods of presenting 
history arc^used the resentment of U'endell lMiillii)S 
also, and caused a general hue and cry among critics; 
but when James Meline's refutations appeared, there 
was a general interest aroused. Mr. Fronde's friends 
had arranged a series of lectures througiiout the 
United States for him, but unalde to face the de- 
mands for explanation oi some of his assertions, he 
canceled his engagements and returned to his own 
country. 

Mr. Theodore Konscvelt, in his Life of Cromi>.'cll, 
differs very materially from sexcral other writers of 
ecpially credible autlutrity. ilis n.'u"i"ati\'e is an a])ol- 
ogN', and near its close he sees a happy C()nse(|uence 
of Ireland's sulfermgs and persecutions, that " she 



94 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

has not remained a Celtic nation, but shared in the 
expansion of the British race," — an opinion not 
likely to be shared by many. 

So, in his ambition to revolutionize the religious 
world, the historian Green says: " Every Puritan be- 
lieved his gun should be heard in the Castle of St. 
Angelo, and Rome itself bowed to Cromwell's great- 
ness." This led Cronnvell step by step to the crime 
of regicide, and at last, on an anniversary of the battle 
of Dunbar, " a storm that tore roofs from the houses 
and prostrated great forest trees, seemed a fitting pre- 
lude to the passing of such a soul, and the turbulent 
spirit was summoned to the tribunal of God." 

The Protestant Bishop Tanner says: " All the 
monasteries were in efit'ect great schools and places 
of hospitality, and besides the entertainment of trav- 
elers, relieved many poor every day." At the time 
of the so-called Reformation, Great Britain con- 
tained numberless schools, convents and monasteries. 
Oxford, for example, Avas founded by the Catholic 
King Alfred. One has only to open the pages of 
The History of the Rcfonnation, written by the Prot- 
estant William Cobbett, to be undeceived of many 
illusions. 

While on the subject of education here, I can not 
refrain from quoting an article by the Rev. Father 
Conaty, and published in the Worcester (Massachu- 



Ihibliii — O'CoimcU — Hinuicl — Croun^'ell. 95 

setts) Spy, in repl)' to a statement 1)\- a minister on 
the "illiterate Irish." and laying the hlame on the 
Catholic Chnrch. I i"m only ([note here and there 
from this strong article. Tie says: 

" To understand the question thoroughly, it is necessary to 
read the historj' of Ireland at a per-'od wi.en she was Christian, 
Catholic and free, and compare her with Ireland, Catholic, but 
ruled by Protestant England, aided by an Irish Protestant Par- 
liament, and I think we shaM find thousands of reasons which 
made her, not a culprit and guilty of blame, but a victim and 
deserving of sympathy. Without wasting time on the story of 
Catholic Ireland's love for learning, it may be well to remember 
there is no doubt concerning her position in the world of letters 
from the fifth to the ele\'enth centuiies. Her name was sj'nony- 
mous with education. To her schools, famed for philosophy and 
literature, taught by her monks, students went from ever}' coun- 
try in Europe. Cordially welcomed, as Venerable Bede says, and 
often supplied with food and clothing gratuitously. So great 
was her renown that even children of the royal families went to 
her for education, as did Alfred the Great, or sent for her monks 
to act as tutors, as did the daughter of Charlemagne. Danish 
^nd Norman invaders began the work of pillage and confiscation 
which the so-called period of the Reformation completed. The 
schoolmaster, the priest and wolf," Father Conaty continues, 
" were recognized by law as three wild beasts, and a reward of 
one pound was placed on the head of each. The Catholic parent 
could not teach his child at home, nor send him to other coun- 
tries for education, under penalty of loss of property, transporta- 
tion or death. While the Protestant had all the advantages of a 
school where his religion and letters were taught at the expense, 
often, of the Catholics, whose best land was confiscated and 
appropriated for school purposes. The Irish I'arliameiit, which 



96 Memories of a Rcd-L.etter Summer. 

was Protestant, and landlord doomed five-sixths of the nation to 
perpetual ignorance. Ireland's crime was a thirst for knowledge 
without forfeiting religion. Catholic Ireland refused education 
under such conditions. Compare this state of Ireland, from the 
sixteenth to the nineteenth century, under England, with Ireland 
from the fifth to the twelfth century, and who is to blame for 
the illiteracy! '' 

Paulding said: 

" England first denied them the mean? of improvement and 
then insulted them with the imputation of barbarism. For nearly 
a hundred years after the treaty of Limerick, in 1691, no Cath- 
olic school was tolerated in Ireland. During all these years 
Catholics risked everything to preserve, not only their faith, but 
some shreds of education. Children were smuggled to Europe, 
teachers were smuggled to Ireland, and under cover of a hedge 
or in the caves of the mountains, men who had occupied chairs 
of philosophy in Continental universities were found teaching the 
Irish peasants to read. Hunted from cover to cover, with scouts 
watching for the enemies' dragoons, the famous Nicholas Sher- 
rett, afterwards Archbishop of Galwa}^ taught a hedge school 
for years. 

" Since the removal of these dreadful restrictions, religious 
communities have established schools for the gratuitous educa- 
tion of Catholic poor. The Puritan is lauded for leaving home 
to save his conscience, while the Irish Catholic is upbraided for 
shunning an education which forfeited conscience. Previous to 
i860 no teacher, excepting by stealth, could speak of Ireland's 
battles for liberty, or the deeds of Irish heroes, but as they were 
misnamed Englishmen." 

I despair of giving justice to this article of heroic 

defense of the Irish people; it is too long to be quoted 

more freely. 



Dublin — O'CoimclI — Bmuict — Croiuzx'cll. 97 

Returning" to Cromwell, it may be interesting to 
note a fact I ha\'e just read in a very old book in mv 
possession, that in the fourth generation after Charles 
the First and Oliver Cromwell, there was a marriage 
between their descendants. It is illustrated thus: 

Charles II. Lady Falconberg 

Lady Litchfield. Lady Russell. 

Earl of Litchfield. Sir Thomas Frankland. 

Earl of Litchfield. Diana Frankland. 

This old chronicle also states that King George 
the First could speak no English, and his Prime Min- 
ister, Sir Robert Walpole, no German, so they con- 
versed in Latin. 



(5^ 



CHAPTER VII. 

PARSONSTOWN, OR BIRR — LORD ROSSE'S TELE- 
SCOPES—IRISH CHARACTER — KILLARNEY — 
INNISFALLEN — TOM MOORE — 
GLENGARIFFE. 

We now proceed to Birr, or Parsonstown, con- 
taining in its vicinity recollections dear to one of our 
party. It has the usual history. Passing from the 
O'Carrolls, whose castle still stands — stormed, lost, 
and regained, — the title of Earl of Rosse was con- 
ferred on one of the Parsons family. Here are the 
famous Rosse telescopes. Rosse Castle is most beau- 
tiful, situated in a park whose verdure only Ireland 
can produce. In this neighborhood we never tired of 
our excursions. We enjoyed the novelty of riding 
in a jaunting-car, and, once accustomed to its sway, 
we chose it often as a means of locomotion. But 
once I had a prcT\oking experience. J. and I were 
to make a little trip c^ut to a farm, and we merrily 
set out on our jaunting-car. Alas, for me; some- 
thing went wrong on the affair on my side, and every 
revolution of the wheel gave me a hearty bounce. 
My arms ached from tr}-ing- to keej) my balance. My 
protests only brought the comforting assurance from 
our happy-g'o-lucky driver: " Sure it's only a bit of 




H 



fa 



Killanicv — fi'i'isfiillcn — Tom M oorc. 



99 



a houncc, nia'aiii; nou'II i;cl used to it." lMnall\- 1 
(Iciuandcd to ho let do\\ii, and told tlk'ni to ooiitiiiiK' 
their )ounie\': I should \\an< slo\\l\- haek and lliey 
should o\erlake me. ^^trolliui^' aloui;' the eouutry 
road. I had a i;(_)od onpoiinuity to olxerxe the hog's 
and lurf eutters. The hoi^'s are a \ery interesting" 
slud\. Ik'sides I'uriiishin^' tui.'l, the\- ha\e heen ref- 
n,L;"es in the ancient da\s I'or the |)erseeute(l peojjle, 
who knew how to a\ oid the dangerous parts. \ al- 
uahle treasures, L;'reat trees, and ewn human hodies 
ha\e heen t()un<l in them in perfect preser\ ation. In 
a hog near Tnam an ancient eorrack, or canot- hoat. 
lias heen found, several f(.'t'1 helow the surface, well 
preser\ed. It measures lift\-l\\o feet in length, and 
will 1h' placed among the C'eitic- remains in iIk' 
1 )ul)lin M usemn. 

The Loik/oii Lris'nu- llniir sa\s "thai a leai'ued 
\'iennese has l)ccn c.\i)erinienting with peat from 
i)Ogs tor scx'erai \ears, and fmds it caj-ahie of heing 
utilized foi- man\ imrposes. A hnilding was on ex- 
hihitinu in which the cru'pets, curtains. ;md the paper 
on the walls wei'e made from the lilKM"s of the grasses 
and reeds of which j)eat was composed. These fihers 
Avere found to he dnrahle and elastic, with t!ie warmth 
of wool and toughness '<\ linen. This discovei'\' will 
prove ver\' xahiahle, .and. ma\' open up new industries 
for Ireland. The cutting of the hiack hog oak into 
L.cfC. 



loo Memories of a Red-J.,etter Summer. 

ornaments is quite a thriving industry, and the peas- 
antry often cut it into torches, which yield an aroma 
most delightful." 

Pursuing my return to the town, I grew tired at 
last, and stopped at a cabin to ask for a drink of 
water. I was invited to enter by a i^eautiful Irish 
girl, who extended the hospitality of her earth-floored 
domicile with a gentle grace, that bespoke her train- 
ing by the ladies of the convent near by. In her soft 
voice she told me of her little domestic history, her 
wish to go to America, but for the lo^'e of an only 
brother, for whom she desired to keep a home, as 
their parents were dead. I accepted the g'lass of milk 
and a slice of bread and butter she offered me, heard 
the story of the little orphaned chickens she was rear- 
ing in the shelter of the great fireplace, where a small 
but bright peat fire was giving out its fragrant heat; 
admired the bit of needle-work she brought out for 
my mspection. and which, on leaving, she so pressed 
on me, with a loaf of her snowy bread, that to avoid 
appearing rude I was forced to accept, although 
already burdened with kodak, umbrella and water- 
proofs. Fortunately for me, I soon met a hungry- 
looking child, to whom T gave the bread. I saw sev- 
eral little stone cabins, from which the roofs had been 
torn years before, when the unhappy tenants were 
evicted. In this neighborhood an old man told J. 



Klllanicy — IiiiusfaUcii — Tom Moore. loi 

that from where the>' stood, on the top of a hilK 
within his recoUection one hnnth'ed families had 
homes, where now one man and a dog cared for 
the sheep and cattle ]iastnrc(l there. Eventually I 
reached the town, glad not to lie overtaken b}' my 
micomfortable vehicle and breezy driver, whom J. 
had taken wandering" over the fields. 

There is a salutation in use among the Irish 
people on entering a house, " God save all here," 
and the response, " God save you kindly." that 
evinces the kind, warm heart and then' ever-present 
thought of God. 

" In other lands they know not well 

How priceless is the lore 
That hedges with a sacred spell 

Old Ireland's cabin door; 
To those it is no empty sound 

Who think with many a tear 
Of long loved memories wreathing round 

The praj'er, ' God save all here.' " 

The old Gaelic language luay be re\ived, as stej^s are 
being taken, in our own coimtr}- also, for the study of 
the tongue in which the ancient bards rehearsed the 
deeds of earl\- warlike days. 

The following eloquent ])ravcr is one of the many 
handed down from remote ages, translated from the 
r,aelic. and nmch u.sed l'\' the faithful jieople: " 'I'he 
will of God may we do; the law of God ma\' we keep; 



I02 Memories of a Red-Lctter Snmuier. 

our own peryei'se will may we restrain; on our tongue 
may we put a bridle. Timely repentance may we 
make. On the Passion of Christ may we think; 
every offense of sin may we avoid; on our last end 
may we meditate. A blessed death may we attain. 
The music of the angels may we hear. The face of 
God may we see. Praising and loving Him may we 
be through all eternity." 

" Soggarth Aroon " is an affectionate appellation 
of the priest, and these lines are very touching, as 
evincing the love of home in the heart of an Irish 
exile: 

"Oh, Soggarth Aroon! sure I know life is fleeting; 

Soon, soon in the strange earth my poor bones will lie ; 
I have said my last praj^er and received my last blessing, 

And if the Lord's willing, I'm ready to die. 
But, Soggarth Aroon ! can I never again see 

The valleys and hills of my dear native land? 
When my soul takes its flight from this dark world of sorrow. 

Will it pass through old Ireland to join the blest band? 

" Oh, Soggarth Aroon ! sure I know that in heaven 
The loved ones are waiting and watching for me ; 
And the Lord knows how anxious I am to be with them 

In the realms of joy, with the souls pure and free. 
Yet, Soggarth, I pray, ere you leave me forever. 

Relieve the last doubt of a poor, dying soul. 
Whose hope, next to God, is to know that when leaving, 
'Twill pass through old Ireland on the way to its goal." 

Miss Mulholland beatitifuUv tells of an Irish exile. 



Killanicy — hinisfallcii — Tom Moore. 103 

wild liad carried with liim to the New World a few 
hlocks of turf fi-oin the lioine 1)0!^', and when partic- 
iilarK' homesick, would lnu'u a hit on the chiuuiev- 
piece as one would a pastille, and weep a heart ful he- 
fore the last white ash had fallen, seeing in its red 
heart visions of home, and breathing in its fragrance 
more gratefnll)- than choicest perfume. Traditions 
abound, and here, in the land of romance, fairy tales 
and sacred associations, one takes delight in listening 
to and tr\ing to l)elie\e then.i. ( )ne exists among 
the ])easantr}' of {placing a chair b\- the clean-swept 
hearth on the eve of All Souls' Day for the welcome 
of some dear one ])assed away. 

I )ur (hi\-er took us respectfully around St. Kier- 
nan's bush, growing inmiediately in the middle of 
the road. Xo one might remove this; but one per- 
son had undertaken to defy the rule, and in cutting 
at the bush, had cut oFf his own arm. While visit- 
ing this ])lace, we had good opportunit\' to stud\- 
Irish character under most favorable aus])ices. and 
some of our cxi)eriences combined circimistances 
both amusing and pathetic. I ha\e just read such a 
touching eulogy on the " Irish Mother." detining so 
completely the character which has gifted her chil- 
flren with those pure and steadfast traits which dis- 
tinguish them: the slu'ew dness, the pathos, the poc- 
tr\-. that makes them the onl\ nation with a musical 



I04 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

instrument for an emblem, the shamrock-wreathed 
harp. A few lines from this eulogy say: " I wonder 
if she is still in the old land, the blessed Irish mother, 
who put a cap around her comely face between the 
twenties and the thirties, and covered her brown 
waves from sight. To her simple soul, marriage 
meant consecration, and her faith in the divine right 
of husbands was unshaken by any little weaknesses. 
What confidence she reposed in the brave boys, that 
overtopped her at sixteen! Her unquestioning trust 
and earnest teachings kept them pure and honest in 
their early days, and later, when they discovered that 
the dear mother was only a simple,' illogical, unlet- 
tered w^oman, their loyalty and devotion deepened 
to find what Avonders she had w^orked with her few 
talents. What a tragedy Shakespeare could have 
woven around her, haunted all her life by a phantom 
ship at anchor in some harbor, waiting until the chil- 
dren of her love were old enough to take passage and 
leave her forever! How sorrowful must have been 
her joy when seeing them rise to the stature of men 
and women! I wonder if she is still in the old land, 
stealing out of the lonelv home at nightfall and look- 
ing with her tender eyes always westward! And 
when no one is by, falling on her knees and lifting 
her hands in such intensity of supplication that they 
touch the hem of His garment, and the blessings fall 



Killantcy — Imiisfallcii — Tom Moore. 105 

on her flesh and l)loo(l in the far-oil" land, and her 
faith has made them whole. If flowers, emblematic 
of then- li\-es, conld sprino- from the dust i)eneath. it 
would he eas^• to hnd the graves of the Irish mothers. 
Roses would be clustered in the emerald moss around 
the head, violets at the feet, and among the sweetest 
of the clover Idossoms, just al)ove the heart, there 
woiild be lilies." 

From Parsonstown, or Birr, we continued our 
journey, im|)atient for the enchanted Lakes of Kil- 
larney. How sad that, with all Nature has done for 
Ireland, her people should still see such faint hopes 
of rescue from the oppression of cenrunes through 
which she has passed! A'et, may not the hand of 
Providence be seen even here? Driven by want and 
fiercest persecution from their native land, the Irish 
have been the apostles of the Faith all over the world, 
where their faithful hearts have carried and kept it. 
Denied their own country and flag, their blood has 
been laxishl}' shed wherever England has sent ihcm. 
or their adopted cr)untries liax'C had need of their 
strong arms. Witness Patrick Sarsfield, enlisted in 
the French service, and falling in 1693 grasping his 
heart's blood and raising his hand to heaven, cried: 
" Oh, that this was shed for Ireland!" In the history 
of our own countr\- no names stand hiirher on its 



io6 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

annals than those of Erin's sons. They appear in the 
Continental Congress and as signers of our Declara- 
tion of Independence. During the darkest hours 
of our revolutionary struggles, when Washington 
united with Congress in an appeal for pecuniary 
help, twenty-seven members of the " Friendly Sons 
of St. Patrick " contributed over a half million ot 
dollars, and Thomas Fitzsimmons, a member of the 
Continental Congress, alone subscribed twenty-five 
thousand dollars to the loan for carrying on the war. 
Mr. Galloway, Speaker of the Pennsylvania Assem- 
bly, being questioned as to the nationality of the 
Continental army, answered, "One-half were Irish." 
" Saucy Jack Barry," as he was called, wore the title 
of the " Father of the American navy." George 
VV. P. Custis asked for " eternal gratitude to the 
Irish nation " in commenting on the part taken in 
those dark days. Mr. Thomas Murray collected the 
names of two hundred and fifty Irish soldiers in the 
Revolution bearing the name of Patrick. As to the 
women, their deeds in pestilential places and on the 
battlefields as nurses need no comment. Some one, 
writing of the Irish people, said: 

"They have sailed over every ocean, 
They have lived under every star, 
And the world's cold faith and devotion 
Grow warmer wherever thej' are. 



Klllanicy— I I'.iiisfiillcii — Tuni M Oi)rc. 107 

"The coUa<;f llK-y'\-t' l)uill on Ihf ])rairiL', 

'I'lu- (.■liurcli tlu-\' lia\r raist'cl oii [hv wild, 
Ami arouiiil ihv whok- world Ihc 'Hail Mary' 
Is lis])(.'d by Ihr Irislmian's idiild." 

Tlieir ])()cts liaxc siiiil;' llie sweetest songs. What 
could l)e sweeter lliaii this of Dennis Florence 
AlcC\artliy: 

" Ah, my heart is wear}' waiting, 

Waiting for the May, 
Waiting- for the pK;asant ranililcs, 
Wlu'i'c tlu' fragrant hawthorn brambles 
With the woodbine aUernating 

Scent the dewy way; 
Ah, my heart is weary waiting, 

Waiting for the May." 

At McCarthy's death, I-'ather Kelly wrote a 
mcni( inam, hcgiiniing: 

" Nevermore your heart will weary, 

Wailing for the May; 
Nevermore, sweet Celtic .singer, 
March and Api-il. when tlu'v linger, 
Will appear as dark and dreary 

As they did that day, 
Wlu-n your sighing Iieart was weary, 

\\'aiting U^r the May." 

Trcland's hraim iiu'ii have excelled in statcs- 
niaiishi]); licr l)r;i\e ]M"icsls ha\e f()ll()\\ed the exiled 
C'hm'ch inlo caws ami fastnesses, knowino- of ilu> 
price set on ihcir hcad>. and l.aiudn liic xotino- c]\\\ 



io8 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

dren, who were denied education but in an alien 
faith, under the hedges, or wherever sheher could 
be obtained, and have followed the soldiers to the 
battlefields, or gone fearlessly into pest-ridden places 
to minister to the sick and dying. ^ Her noble women 
have been no less courageous. Go where you will, 
and meet in any walk of life an extraordinary woman, 
it is not very difficult to go Imck far enough to find 
a streak of "Irish blood. Even the heavens weep over 
Ireland's woes; yet to them have been given light 
hearts and poetic natures, to which their fairy tales 
and fireside legends are ever true. Every rock has 
its name, every island its story. No nation loves 
more their own country; her sorrows bind their 
hearts to her more firmly. One young Irish poet 
has particularly voiced the heart-cry of his people. 
I select but two verses: 

" I would rather live in Ireland, and the thought comes from 

my heart ; 
I would rather toil in Ireland, on the barest, bleakest part. 
Spurned by every village magnate, smote by every minion's 

hand, 
Than abide in pomp and panoply in any other land. 

" I would rather live in Ireland, for although the spoiler's breath 
Locust like, may sweep her valleys, spreading ruin,, dearth and 

death, 
Still it can not still the sunshine, and it can not yet, thank God, 
Hush the murmurs of the river, chase the shamrock from the 
sod." 




a 



o 



k'illaniry — finiisfallcii — Tom Moore. 109 

The Irisli ])casaiU has no encoui'ag'cinenl to make 
his place aUracli\"e, as it would thus only conunand 
more rent. A popular Irish writer says: " Ireland 
is the land of jioetry. It is tlie country of traditions 
and memories; the country of the ideal. Monuments 
of epic combats, of the royal splendors of religious 
faith, co\'er her soil. The humblest peasant toils 
under the shadow of ruins that tell him his father- 
were not slaves. These ruins, in the field bedewed 
by the sweat of his brow, speak to him of ages past, 
and repeat within his heart the echo of the voices of 
heroes, of sages and of saints." 

At our Killarncy hotel, three miles from the 
town, we were awakened every morning by one of the 
"Come all ye's" of an old blind man who walked out 
every morning and sang with great gusto. His rep- 
ertoire was extensive. Verse after verse rolled from 
his tongue of Irish ballads. One our young people 
occasionally recall: " I'or she was a charming young 
maiden, on the green, sunn\' banks of the Lee." 
Clean, fresh, cheerful, his eighty-two years sat lightly 
on him, and he received the pennies thrown him from 
coaches and hotel windows with the usual blessings, 
and wished for good luck to the giver. If the little 
curly head of our parly fall heir to all the blessings 
hca])e(l upon him, he will be rich in<leed. 

We made the lake tri]) one day. ha\'ing previously 



no Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

gone by carriage several miles to the Gap of Dunloe. 
Here was the cottage of the famed beauty, " Kate 
Kearney, who lived on the banks of Killarney." The 
ride on the " ponies " through the Pass embraced 
some funny experiences. The hardy guides accom- 
panied us on foot, enlivening the way by their stories 
and making light of our numerous wraps, which they 
carried. So we went up hill, down dale, around 
curves, under overhanging rocks. Some of our 
ponies seemed to delight in crowding us tog'ether 
or against rocks, and the echoes were awakened by 
bugle, gun or song. At last we caught sight of the 
first lake, and our guides, with their ponies, were dis- 
missed, and they mounted them and returned pell- 
mell to the Cottage. We were met here by a four- 
manned boat with a most welcome basket of lunch, 
sent by our hotel. Then began an ever-to-be-re- 
membered trip throug"h the lakes. Our head boat- 
man was g'ifted with a fertile imagination and per- 
suasive, descriptive faculty, and we were treated to 
fascinating legends of the surrounding country, in 
which figured the McCarthys, O'Mores, O'Don- 
aghues and other Irish chieftains. One holds his 
court under the lake, and on May mornings comes 
forth on his milk-white steed to ride around the 
waters. When the silver shoes shall be worn away, 
the O'Donasfhue shall come to his own. The boat- 



Killamey — Iiuiisfallcii — Tom Moore. iii 

man called the breaking- waves " O'Donaghue's white 
horses." The Eagle's Nest, the old Weir Bridge, 
with its rapids beneath, the lovely Dinish Island 
where we stopped to rest, the McGillycuddy Reeks, 
Purple Mountains and Colleen Bawn rocks were but 
a few of the attractions. This trip is associated with 
poor Eily O'Connor and Miles na Coppoleen. An- 
other day we took the same boat for a trip to the 
Gem of Killarney, sweet Innisfallen, the land of faith 
and learning-. Here are the ruins of St. Finan's 
Abbey, attributed to the sixth century. Our ready 
guide showed us a slab, over which the protecting 
roots of a huge tree had grown, and bade us believe 
it the tomb of the saint. The ruins of the Aljbey are 
most interesting. An archaeological society has en- 
deavored to prevent farther spoliation, and restored 
some places sufficiently to support the crumbling 
walls from farther ruin. We could trace much of 
the building, e\'en where the walls had fallen entirely 
to decay. Silent for centuries have been the voices 
that once sang or chanted prayer or praise to God 
here; roofless the sanctuary where once reposed the 
Sacred Presence. Yet we involuntarily kneel among 
the ruins, with a prayer for the souls of those who 
once dwelt here and for better days for Erin. Here 
is a curious freak of nature; an inmicnse ivy vine 
binds toticlhcr as one a hawthorn tree, an ash and a 



112 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

holly. In this old Abbey were precious manuscripts, 
prepared by the patient labor of studious monks. 
How interesting would be the annals could they be 
found! but the only authentic writings are a few 
leaves in the Irish language, now possessed by the 
Bodleian Library at Oxford. The Abbey, being ever 
esteemed a secure sanctuary, much treasure was kept 
there; yet some of the renegade Irish chieftains 
plundered it, and slew many of the clergy in the sanc- 
tuary. We searched carefully for the pretty sham- 
rock, " poor Erin's badge, the green, immortal sham- 
rock, the chosen leaf of bard and chief.'' We left this 
charming spot with deep regret. Its beauties, its 
antiquities and its wrongs appealed to every tender 
emotion. Tom Moore thus apostrophizes it: 

" Sweet Innisfallen, long shall dwell 

In memory's dream that sunny smile 
Which o'er me on that evening fell 

When first I saw thy fairy isle! 
Sweet Innisfallen, fare thee well ; 

May calm and sunshine long be thine ; 
How fair thou art let others tell, 

While but to feel how fair be mine." 

A perusal of all these beautiful lines will give a better 
conception of this island than any poor description 
of mine. The most ancient name of Ireland was 
" Inisfail." 




Corner in Muckross Abbey, Ireland. 



Killanicy — IiniisfaUoi — Tout Moore. iij 

Our hotel at Killarney was chosen for its name. 
" Muckross." and its convenience to the old Abbey, 
the most picturesque ruin in Ireland. The Francis- 
cans built this in 1440. Some ])arts are still in ex- 
cellent preservation, especially the tombs. In the 
center of the court, surrounded by beautiful clois- 
ters, rises an immense yew, which overshadows the 
place with its mighty branches. We visited this ruin 
again and again, ever finding new food for thought, 
and peopling" it with its former occupants. 

One day J. and T left our party to their ponies, 
jaunting-cars and s\\eet liberty, while we mounted 
one of the coaches of the Prince of Whiles route, as 
they passed by our hotel on their way to Glengariffe. 
When I spoke to our driver, on one occasion, as to 
the length of the miles, he replied: " Sure, ma'am, 
they are longer in Ireland than anywhere else, for we 
always give good measure." This reminds me of the 
tall Wellington monument in Phoenix Park. Dublin. 
which a joking native called an Irish milestone, the 
miles there being so long as to require tall marks. 
We passed through shady woods, where the moss, 
heavy and green, looked like a picture; past water- 
falls ancl lovely lake views, until away up among the 
mountains we readied the Mulgrave police barracks, 
w ith the bored looking constables standing around in 
the rain wlu'ch had suddenly come up(^n us. for the 



114 Memories of a Rnd-Lettcr Swniner. 

Ijaternal English governnient must keep watch on 
the people, ragged and hungi v though they 1)e. The 
cloudburst, that compelled us to pull about us all the 
available oilskins, gave a comical side to our trip. 
The great coach ahead of us was crowded with tour- 
ists, while J. and I had only baggage and the driver. 
Crouched under our wraps and umbrellas, we could 
observe the miser)' of our companions, whose drip- 
ping umbrellas deluged their neighbors' backs. 
Being somewhat experienced. I had, on starting, 
adopted cap, veil and waterproof, and had remarked 
a lady ahead with finery and nodding plumes, which 
of course came to grief, and arriving at Kenmare for 
lunch, there was a general discarding of superfluous 
millinery. At Kenmare the nuns of the Convent of 
Poor Clares have done much to relieve the woes of 
the poor peasantry by their schools and instruction 
in lace making and general care of children. This is 
the wild country — 

" Where the deep Blackwater glides to its ocean rest. 
And the hills, with their green-clad bosoms, roll up from the 
river's breast." 

The similarity between the climate and the charac- 
ter of the Irish people occurred to me often on this 
trip; sudden bursts of sunshine through the weeping 



Killantcy — I iiiiisfallcii — Tom Moore. 1 15 

clouds, typifying" cheerfulness under depressing cir- 
cumstances: 

" Erin, the tear and the smile in tliine eyes 
Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thv skies ; 
Thy snns, with doubt fnl gleam, weep while they rise." 

Here again Cromwell is kept in memory by a fort 
of his name. Limcheon over anil fresh horses at- 
tached, we start again for the remaining twenty-two 
miles of our journey. The mountains abound in 
black cattle, which take the stone walls like deer, and 
miserable cabins scarcely shelter the numerous mem- 
bers of the poor families. We passed several national 
schools, and were amused by the children running 
along by the coaches, bareheaded and many shoeless, 
looking for pennies or for frtiit thrown by the jias- 
sengers. Some, though, from the wretched cabins 
higher up, started our tears by their miseries, as in 
fluttering rags they would run beside us with a bunch 
of white heather or some other trifle, and eagerly 
grasping whatever might he given. I read an 
amusing account of these Irish national schools, too 
long to cjuote here, but which shows the overflowing 
spirits of the youth and the fun they manage to inter- 
lard with their mental labor. These schools are free, 
and attendance is compulsory. The Protestant at- 
tendants leave at the stated hours, while the Catho- 



ii6 Memories of a Red-Letter Siiinnter. 

lies remain for the Angelus and Catechism. The dis- 
trict inspector conducts the examination, and is gen- 
erally very watchful, and a paltry sum is awarded 
those who pass. Ruskin's remarks on present edu- 
cation may l^e apropos. It will be noted that the 
Catholic system of education deals with the heart as 
well as the mind; the child is taught that he has a soul 
to save, hence their plan; but, as Ruskin says: " The 
so-called Christian world has established a system of 
instruction for its youth in which neither the his- 
tory of Christ's Cliurch nor the language of God's 
law is considered a study of the smallest importance; 
wherein, of all subjects of human incjuiry, his own 
religion is one in which a youth's ignorance is most 
easily forgiven; he may l^e daily guilty of many sins, 
so that he writes Latin verses accurately and with 
speed." 

So on through the ICerrv Mountains we go, until 
at last, on emerging from a tunnel, we are in County 
Cork. Soon we begin our descent, and down, down, 
down we go, until at last, at half-past 6, after many 
windings and turnings, we reach Glengariffe, on the 
lovely Bantry Bay. Here the Gulf Stream touches 
the coast, creating a balmy temperature. The dense 
woods are said to abound in game, and the waters in 
fine fish. Most lovely flowers, some tropical, rich 
and beautiful, grow here out of doors, and I now, 



Killanicy — Iiiiii';fa!lci' — To/// ^foo)■c. i r 



liiniini;" to ni}' herhai'inin, where 1 ha\-e niaiu' speci- 
mens, can almost imas^'ine I see the heautiful carpet 
they form around nicnti'ari ffe. After a welcome re- 
past, we took a boat and rowed around the placid 
waters, which S(^ ])erfectl}' retlect the shores that one 
can scared}- tell where they meet. 

As usual, our boatman was Icxpiacious. and 
]iointed out man\- ])laccs of interest. Cromwell's 
lirid^e. near by, was built at his connnand in ,an 
incredibl}- sliort time, and here in i/t)') the iM-ench 
in\'aders landed, under (1ene'"al lloche. 

'Idiackeray eulo^'i/.es this i)lace in the hii^hest 
terms, saying' thai "if it were situated in v^wit/erland 
or on the Khiue, ])eople would llock to see it. Then 
why not in li'eland?" And he wished to ha\'e ])lent_\' 
of money, that he mii;hl lake painters throui^h it to 
make pictures of it. 

v^o lon,^' was the Iu)ie twilight that. retiriuL;' at lO 
o'clock, it was still li,L;ht enough to I'cad. The next 
day we retmaied to l\il];uaie\-. unu-h ])leased with our 
experience in coachinjj;'. The Lakes .and h'ells of 
Killarney will ne\'er he forgotten. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

CORK — BLARNEY CASTLE - SHANDON BELLS — 
GERALD GRIEFIN — RETURNING TO LON- 
DON—LEAVING ENGLAND — PARIS — 
CEMETERIES — EXPOSITION — 
VERSAILLES — FON- 
TAINEBLEAU. 

At Cork, our first visit was to the famed Blarney 
stone, that — 

" Whoever kisses, 
Oh! he never misses to grow eloquent; 
'Tis he may clamber to a lady's chamber, 
Or become a member of Parliament, 
A clever spouler he "11 turn out. 
Or an out and outer to be let alone. 
Don't hope to hindei him or to bewilder him, 
Sure, he 's a pilgrim i'lom the Blarney stone." 

We found the process of kissing the famous stone to 
be too laborious for even the courageous gentlemen 
of our party, so after we had climbed and climbed the 
tower steps, out on the battlements, we contented 
ourselves with the reflection that we had at least 
made an attempt. We declined to kiss the substi- 
tute, but placed our hands as near the magical stone 
as possible, and I was delighted to rescue from a 
crevice a tiny bit of genuine shamrock. Dennis 




BLAKNIiY CaSTUv. 



Cork — Paris — / 'crsaillcs. 119 

I'^lorence IMcC'nrlliy llnis ai)()str()i)hizcs the shamrock 
on receix'iiig" one in a letter from a friend: 

" Dear (.■nii>kni ot my iiritivc land, 

By tender love kept frcsli and green, 
The pressure ot an '.nifelt liand. 

Tile kisses of a lip unseen: 
A tlirol) from my dead mother's heart, 

-My fatlu-'s smile re\ived once more, 
Oh. }-onlh ! oh, lo\e! oh, hope thou art, 

Sweet shan-rock from tlie Irish shore." 

IJlarne}' Castle is one of the oldest and most strongly 
built, and its romatnic history is not exceeded hv any 
other in Ireland. It helonoed to the McCarthys, and 
man\- and 1"ii.l;' were the contests for its possession. 
IJnilt on a rock, with w.'ills eighteen feet thick, it 
could withstand e\en so \igorous a siege as that laid 
to it by Cromwell. William of Orange was more 
successf'.il in his attacks. Tradition sa\s thai much 
treasure was thrown into the lake, the secret to be 
passed, only \erbally, from one to another, until the 
McCarth\'s come nmo iheir own, when it shall be 
recoN'ered. The famous stone has been the subject 
of nnich conjecture. Some su])posed it to be a 
I )ruidical talisman. halher Trout wrote an anuis- 
ing and interesting account of it. We strolled down 
by the lake and wandered through the " C,ro\-es of 
l)larne\'," fancied the eiudiauled cows that pasture 



I20 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

here, and wished we could meet the poor Lord of 
Blarney, who once a. year walks out of the lake, long- 
ing to be addressed, for he may not first break the 
silence. Hugh O'Neill is remembered, and legends 
are told of a troop of the great chief's lancers lying 
in a trance in a cave, each holding in his hand his 
horse's bridle, waiting for the spell to be broken, that 
they may strike for their country; and once, when a 
traveler entered the cave where they were lying, one 
raised his head and asked: " Is it time?" We often 
wished for the vivid imagination to see the fairies 
dancing on the green. 

On Sunday we attended Mass at St. Matthew's 
Church, ai'id after lunch our party separated, to fol- 
low their own fancies. I had long wished to hear 
the " Bells of Shandon, that sound so grand, on the 
pleasant waters of the river Lee." So I bade a 
cabman take me there. The foundation is old, but 
the present church modern. It is known as " Shan- 
don Bells," and the obliging sexton rings the bells 
for tourists, who, of course, do not forget the usual 
tip. The Reverend Thomas O'Mahony, better 
known as Father Prout, has made it famous. I went 
to his tomb and plucked from beside it a bit of wall- 
flower, and asked the sexton : " Why do he and his 
family lie here?" " Oh, they have a right," he re- 
plied, " as this ground was all once consecrated." 



Cork — Paris — Versailles. 1 2 1 

The inner church was modeled for a different style of 
worship, and we were shown into the crypt by an out- 
side door, where cotT[ins were stacked, tier upon tier, 
some even exposing the poor skeletons. There was 
not the least odor. I could not learn why this most 
unchristian act was permitted. Next, I bade my 
driver take me to the grave of Gerald Grififin, whose 
writings I always so much admired. Of course cabby 
did not know where to go, but I directed him to the 
monastery, and we entered the long, winding drive, 
where, as we reached the front door, we met a monk, 
to whom I made my errand known. I told him I 
was from Kentucky, and he was much interested to 
hear from America. He courteously directed me to 
the little cemetery, and here, marked by a simple 
stone, with the inscription, " Gerald Griffin," his age 
and the date of his death, I knelt a moment with a 
prayer for the pure soul of the genius who lay be- 
neath, h little flower from his grave was added to 
my souvenirs. As the driver held open the carriage 
door for me, he permitted himself the ejaculation: 
" Well, now, would you think it? A lady clear from 
Ameriky to see this grave, and there be thousands in 
Cork who know nothing of him." Besides Griffin's 
numerous prose writings, his poetry was also very 
fine. I have so much admired his lines on a Sister 
of Charity, beginning: 
(6) 



122 Memories of a Red- Letter Summer. 

" Her down bed a pallet, her trinkets a bead, 
Her luster, one taper that serves her to read, 
Her sculpture, the crucifix nailed by her bed. 
Her paintings, one print of the thorn-crowned head. 
Her cushion, the pavement that wearies her knees. 
Her music, the psalm or the sigh of disease. 
The delicate lady lives mortified there 
And the feast is forsaken for fasting and prayer." 

The Cathedral of Finbar is very fine, built on the 
site of a Druid temple. The remains of the saint, 
who died in 630, were afterwards placed here in a 
silver case. The grounds are connected with sacred 
memories, as the burial place of many holy people. 
Father Mathew, the great temperance advocate, has 
here a memorial chapel and a fine bronze statue, and 
his name is revered by all, without respect to creed. 

While in Ireland we must remember that name so 
dear to the hearts of her people, St. Patrick. It is 
very amusing to hear of some of the sects trying to 
claim him. I will quote what I have read in some 
ancient chronicles preserved by the Irish Archaeolog- 
ical and Celtic Society. This old story goes on to 
say that in the year 851, the fifth year of the reign 
of Maelsechlainn, or Malachi, a terrible naval battle 
occurred between the invading Danes and the Loch- 
lanns, or Norwegian settlers, near what is now Carl- 
ingford Lough. The Danish chief said to his people, 
who had been defeated: " I,ook sharp to the battle 



Cork — Paris — Versailles. 123 

Avhich you shall next wage with the Lochlanns. This 
Saint Patrick, against whom these enemies of ours 
have committed many evils, is Archbishop and head 
of the saints of Erin. Let us pray to him fervently, 
and let us give honorable alms to him for our gaining 
victory and triumph over them!" They all answered 
him: " Let our protector be the holy Saint Patrick, 
and the God who is Lord over him also!" The 
next battle was a hard-fought one. The whizzing 
of lances, the clashing of swords, the clattering of 
shields, the shrieks of soldiers when subdued, were 
heard. But the Lochlanns were defeated, and the 
Danes gained a victory on account of the tutelage 
of Saint Patrick, although the Lochlanns were three 
or four times their number. This battle gave good 
courage to the native Irish on account of the defeat 
of the Lochlanns. King Malachi sent ambassadors 
to the Danes, and found the victors cooking over the 
dead bodies of their slain enemies. These Scandina- 
vians were pagans, whose delight was in war; they 
drank from the skulls of their enemies and indulged 
in other like fierce pastimes. So it reads strangely 
that they should resort to Saint Patrick. 

Returning to Dublin, I much desired to visit the 
"sweet vale of Avoca," the scene of "the meeting of 
the waters," so sweetly sung of by Tom Moore, and 
endeared to me by recollections of a dear mother's 



124 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

cradle songs; but we had been misinformed as to 
time and distances, so after reaching Bray, we were 
obhged, in order to return the same day, to content 
ourselves by driving about between trains, and visit- 
ing Powerscourt, with its beautiful waterfall and deer 
park, and the charming Dargle. Leaving Ireland, 
we could heartily echo Moore's words, " The last 
glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see," and — 

" As slow our ship her foamy track 
Against the wind was cleaving, 
Her trembling pennant still looked back 
To that dear land 'twas leaving." 

" First tlower of the earth and first gem of the sea, 
More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom and thy showers, 
Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours." 

Now we return to London to prepare for our trip 
to France, and find it hard to leave again. Although 
called the wickedest city in the world, the police reg- 
ulations are very fine. The " Bobby," as an ofHcer 
is called, is especially the terror of the small boy, but 
he is also the protector of the traveler, the guide to 
everywhere, an encyclopedia of general knowledge, 
and courteous to all. Serenely he stands in the 
middle of the Babel of the London streets; he but 
raises his finger, and the whirling speed of cars, cabs 
and heavy wagons is stopped as if by magic, while 
the frightened pedestrians, fleeing for life, regard him 



Cork — Paris — Versailles. 125 

as an ang-el of deliverance. One wise provision Lon- 
don has. In the middle of a wide street there will he 
a little curhed space, with a gas lamp, and the line of 
drivers must strictly keep to their own side, so per- 
sons wishing to cross must watch their chance from 
one' sidewalk, and landing safely in the center refuge, 
watch an opportunity to reach the opposite curb. So 
we go hither and thither for a parting glance, grudg- 
ing almost the time for meals. Some day I hope to 
come again, when time presses not so strongly, and 
visit the land of iVrthur; go into Cornwall, to Tin- 
tagel, Camelford, and Caerleon, and with Tennyson 
or Sir Thomas Mallory in hand, visit the birthplace 
of Arthur the Good, Merlin the Wise, Guinevere, the 
beautiful but false and bitterly repentant Queen; 
Elaine the Lily, Tristan and Yseult, Launcelot and 
Gawain, and try to follow Sir Galahad in his quest 
of the Holy Grail. Cadbury is supposed to be 
Camelot, the favorite spot for the assembling of the 
Knights of the Round Table. All England claims 
Arthur, but here is the spot where legends ma\- be 
better traced to a foundation. The little river 
Camel — 

" Frantic ever since her Britisli .Xrthur's blood, 
By Mordred's murtlicrous hand, was mingled with her flood " 

still rr)lls its course along. 1 shall look for the waters 



126 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

into which Sir Bedivere cast Excalibur by the King's 
command. "And the hand reached forth and caught 
and brandished it three times," and dream of the 
riders "in white samite with silver shedde, ivory 
saddle and white steed, each Knight in green habit, 
with olive branch in his hand, betokening peace." 

But before leaving England I would pay a tribute 
to the lovely summer weather we there enjoyed. 
Hawthorne's words do so much more justice than I 
could, that I shall quote him: 

" Each day seemed endless, though never wearisome. The 
EngHsh summer day seems to have no beginning and no end. 
When you awake at any reasonable hour, the sun is already 
shining through your curtain; you live through unnumbered 
hours of Sabbath quietude, with a calm variety of incident softly 
etched upon their tranquil lapse; and again you become con- 
scious that it is bedtime again, while there is still enough day- 
light in the sky to make the pages of your book distinctly 
legible. Night, if there be any such season, hangs down a 
transparent veil, through which the bygone day beholds its suc- 
cessor; to-morrow is born before yesterday is dead." 

From New Haven to Dieppe we select our route 
to France, and knowing the reputation of the Channel 
for its bad treatment of travelers, expected to be 
roughly used, but by keeping bravely on deck, we 
escaped seasickness, and drew up beside the pier at 
Dieppe. The first sight to greet the eye was an im- 
mense crucifix on the quay; and we wondered to see 



Cork — Paris — Versailles. 127 

women working beside the b]ue-l)loused men, tug- 
ging at the ropes attached to the boats. We tim- 
orously cHmlied the steep incHne, delighted to set 
foot in France, for we should always have a fraternal 
feeling for the country that aided us as struggling 
colonies in our war for independence. Passing 
through Rouen, with its memories of Jeanne D'Arc, 
we reached Paris in the evening, meeting by ap- 
pointment a courier who had been recommended to 
us by some acquaintances. 

Of course our first business the next day was a 
trip to the great Exposition, and so for several days 
we dutifully gave it our undivided attention; later 
returning at intervals. The moving sidewalk, with 
its amusing experiences; the EifTel Tower, most won- 
derful in its inception and execution; the Trocadero 
and shows of different nationalities; Old Paris, the 
galleries, and endless varieties of objects, with trips 
up and down the Seine, were bewildering. \Yt hailed 
our own beautiful Stars and Stripes over the United 
States Building. Onlv ^vhen in foreign lands can we 
fairly appreciate its b>"auties, for then the homesick 
heart greets with deserved affection its glorious star- 
spangled foUls. Some one has said: " Man never 
made, and nature never produced, anything more 
beautiful than the American flag." 

On the 14th of July the fall of the Bastile was eel- 



128 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

ebrated, and all Paris ran wild. During the day there 
was a steady marching and reviewing of troops, and 
one would think that half the world was at Long- 
champs; but it remained for nightfall to cap the 
climax. Such illuminations, and setting off of fire- 
works, and people dancing madly on the streets! 
Intoxicating Paris! What a study for the more cold- 
blooded stranger! We hear martial music, and here 
comes a great array of soldiers in their clumsy look- 
ing uniforms of blue, with red, baggy trousers, ap- 
pearing very slovenly to us, accustomed to the trim 
appearance of our spick and span American troops. 
Presently another band appears, and some one starts 
up a song; some begin to dance; Bedlam seems loose. 
Perhaps this crowd scarcely passes, when a funeral 
comes along. All is hushed and every head uncov- 
ered as the dead passes. Then we hear the shrill 
notes of a pipe; a shepherd rounds the corner with a 
flock of goats, and they are stopped at doorways or 
where^'er any one asks for a glass. Fast upon this 
pastoral scene whirls the very modern automobile, 
scattering people in all directions. 

For the first weeks we can only stare and wonder 
and tramp around industriously, then settle down to 
view things more calmly. On Sunday we go to the 
Madeleine for holy Mass, and remain afterwards to 
study this historic structure, so beautiful in its Gre- 




His Demuckatic I In, ii nkss. 



Cork — Paris — Versailles. 129 

cian architecture. Later we drove to Notre Dame, 
the great center of religious interest in Paris. The 
foundation dates back twelve hundred years. The 
first view is disappointing, but time and many changes 
have altered the surroundings. It was once a])- 
proached by a fiiglit of steps, but is now level willi 
the street. If these old walls could speak, what won- 
ders they could tell! Peter the Hermit preached 
here the first crusade, about IT95; the people, seized 
with his own enthusiasm, raising their battle-cry: 
" God wills it; God wills it." It was here, in the rev- 
olution of 1793, that a woman was enthroned as God- 
dess of Reason, and worshiped with wild orgies ac- 
cordingly, while a statue of our Blessed Lady was 
removed to make way for one of Liberty. The hor- 
rible desecration cau.sed the church to be closed for 
several years, but it was afterwards opened for wor- 
ship by Napoleon, who said: " No nation can exist 
without religion." During ilie frightful scenes of 
the Commune, in 1S71. it was again desecrated, used 
as a military deixjt. and when the Communists were 
driven out. they attempted to burn it. Tlic treasury 
contains most precious articles; the martyred I!isho])'s 
relics are also here. While gazing on the towers and 
reflecting on the stormy scenes they have witnessed, 
the great bell tolled out. its deep tones impressing 
one still more with the solenm memories. 



130 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

The Pantheon is built over the tomb of St. Gene- 
vieve, the patron saint of Paris. This grand build- 
ing has several times been changed from temple to 
church, and back again. Victor Hugo lies here; 
Marat and Mirabeau were once here, but were re- 
moved. Monuments to Voltaire and Rousseau seem 
out of place under the same roof with the painting of 
St. Denis, the baptism of Clovis, and St. Genevieve 
imploring Attila the Hun to spare Paris. The paint- 
ings are very fine and instructive, showing the inti- 
mate connection of the life of St. Genevieve with 
Parisian history. On the heights of Montmartre, 
or Hill of the Martyrs, which has been the scene of 
many bloody contests, now rises a church dedicated 
to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. 

The cemetery of Pere la Chaise has even been 
occupied by soldiers, and several hotly contested en- 
gagements took place here, both by foreign and civil 
troops. Probably in no other modern cemetery lie 
so many known to fame in various walks of life. The 
National Guards, who fell in the defense of Paris, 
are gratefully remembered. In the center of the 
main avenue is the grand " Monument aux Morts" — 
People pressing forward to the portals of the tomb, 
over which several have already passed; and the 
artist has well depicted the varying emotions of each. 
The actress Rachel, Le Fontaine, Moliere, Victor 



Cork — Paris — Versailles. 131 

Noir, killed by Pierre Bonaparte in a duel; Balzac, 
Beranger, Rossini's memorial, as his bod}' was re- 
moved to Florence; Alfred de Musset, whose own 
beautiful lines are inscribed on his monument; 
Chopin, Cherubini, Auber, Wilhelm and Bellini, 
Thiers the statesman, St. Hiliare, Marshals Massena 
and Lefebre, Sir Sydney Smith, Napoleon's conqueror 
in 1799; Michelet, Due de Morny, and many others 
whose names have been written high in the annals of 
fame; also, Abbe Sicard, who w^as so interested in the 
education of the deaf mutes; and the much visited 
tomb of Abbe Abelard and Heloise, with bronze 
effigies. The good Louis Veuillot lies in the ceme- 
tery of Mont* Parnasse. his tomb bearing the simple 
inscription, "I have believed; now I see." His last 
poem has been frequently translated. The following 
is one which obtained a prize, offered some years ago 
for the best: 

" Place by my side my pen, — it lells my story, 
Upon my heart the crucifix, — my glory, 
And underneath my feet the Book must rest, 
Then seal the coiTin lid above my breast; 
After the lingering last prayer has been said, 
Plant on my grave the cross, above my head. 
And if some friend should give me then a stone, 
' I have believed, I see' carve there alone; 
Say then, my friends, ' fit sleeps' to those who ask, 
Completed miw ami finished his hard tasks, 



132 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

Or rather say, ' He wakes.' He sees at last 

The things that he has dreamed and sleep is past. 

In Jesus is my hope; in all the strife 

His word has been my guide through this sad life; 

Before His Father's throne, at the last day 

He will acknowledge me, nor say me nay." 

In some of these tombs are reminders to the Hving 
to pray for the souls of those whose ashes He beneath, 
and we recite a De Profimdis to their appeal. From 
the quiet spot, where their once busy feet are forever 
at rest, we turned again to the busy Paris streets. 
Home for luncheon and rest, and again we go out, 
along the g-reat thoroughfare, the Champs Elysee, to 
the Place de la Concorde, where the terrible guillo- 
tine once stood. Here were executed Louis Six- 
teenth and Marie Antoinette, who' went with head 
erect to her death, knowing that absolution awaited 
her from an upper window. There was Madame Eliz- 
abeth, the King-'s sister, whose noble spirit inspired 
her last words: " I have made to God the sacrifice of 
my life; I go now to rejoin in heaven those whom T 
have so much loved on earth." The brutal execu- 
tioner had disarrang"ed her kerchief. " In the name 
of your mother, cover me, sir," she commanded, and 
she was obeyed. The father of King Louis Philippe, 
Charlotte Corday, and numberless others, here met 
death. Guizot says: " The concergerie contained 



Cork — Paris — Versailles. 1 33 

great lords and noble ladies, bearing the most illus- 
trious names in the history of France. Madame La- 
fayette was here awaiting death, but happily she did 
not recognize in the hoarse voice of the criers, who 
called off each day the list of those who " had gained 
the prizes in the lottery of St. Guillotine," the cher- 
ished names of grandmother, mother and sister. 
Truly the reign of terror was here; in a little more 
than two years twenty-eight hundred persons met 
death by the ax. As if in retribution, Danton, Des- 
moulins, and other leaders, finished up the list; even 
Robespierre himself, after attempted suicide. 

The Egyptian obelisk here, presented by the Vice- 
roy of Egypt, is from the time of Rameses Second, 
as hieroglyphics show. The magnificent Vendome 
Column was erected by Napoleon to celebrate his 
victories, and is an imitation of the Trajan Column 
at Rome, with its spiral rows of figures. It figiu"ed 
largely in I'arisian troubles, from alterations and de- 
facements, to final o\erturning l)y tlie Connnunc in 
1871, but it was re-erected, and is one of the city 
sights. The Palace of the T.ouvre barely escaped 
destruction (hiring tlic Conunnne. This is closely 
connected with tlic llui^iu'iiot troubles, of which so 
many coullirting stories are told. The art collec- 
tions, to wliicli it is now de\'oted, are priceless, con- 
sistini^' of liiiili modern and anti(ine, Roman, Egyp- 



134 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

tian, Phoenician and Greek; among them the famous 
Venus de Milo. 

The gardens of the destroyed Tuileries Palace are 
very beautiful. The Arc de Triomphe occupies an 
eelvation, from which radiate twelve differtent boule- 
vards, and resembles the arches in Rome, built to 
commemorate great battles. This one contains the 
names of Napoleon's famous victories and magnifi- 
cent bas reliefs. We take the avenue to the Bois de 
Boulogne, and enter this grand park of over two 
thousand acres. It was once a dangerous wood, in- 
fested with evil characters; but being presented to 
the city, it was improved and beautified. We had 
pointed out to us here the residence of our American 
Countess, Anna Gould Castellane. My democratic 
blood was stirred a little on passing this mansion, re- 
calling the slurs often cast on our American girls as 
willing to make any sacrifice for a title. One gentle- 
man in a group of Americans ahead of us began 
loudly and defiantly to whistle " Yankee Doodle." 

The Column of July now marks the spot occu- 
pied by the dread Bastile for nearly four hundred 
years. During the revolution of 1789 the Bastile 
fell, after a fearful struggle. The head of Delauny, 
the Governor, was carried on a pike, and all the 
scenes of horror were enacted of which the French 
people, under frantic excitement, are capable. T 



Cork — Pans — Versailles. 135 

have seen the key of the Bastile at Mount Vernon, 
where Lafayette had presented it to our own Wash- 
ington. I was told that vaults, under the column 
erected here, contain the bodies of those who fell in 
defense of the Castle, as well as some of the victims 
of the Revolution of 1848. On one of the barricades 
erected in the streets then, the venerable Abbe Afifre 
fell, while attempting to quell the rioting. 

One of the permanent attractions of Paris is the 
Eiffel Tower, a monument to the wonderful skill of 
its engineer, for whom it is named. Nine hundred 
and eighty-four feet in height, it rises above any 
tower known in history. It was included in the 
Exposition grounds, and some of our party proposed 
the ascent. I went to the first platform, nearly two 
hundred feet al)ove ground, took tea, and prome- 
naded around its immense area to look at the shops 
and view the illuminated grounds, but declined to go 
higher, as even from here the people below looked 
almost like ants; and, descending, was glad to be 
safely on terra firma. The second platform, three 
hundred and eighty feet above ground, contains a 
theater. From this ])lace a fine view is had of 
Palais du Trocadero, on the opposite bank of the 
Seine, approached by a fine bridge, Pont d'Jena, 
completed in 1830 to commemorate the battle. The 
tomb of Napoleon I. lies imdcr the dome of the In- 



136 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

valides. Here might well be inscribed, "After life's 
fitful fever he sleeps well.'" The mighty man, before 
whom Europe once trembled, dying in exile, like a 
caged eagle, lies here a handful of dust. According 
to his wishes, that his body might repose on the banks 
of the Seine, it was brought here from St. Helena in 
1840. Near him are his beloved Generals Duroc 
and Bertrand, while above him, in mournful drapery, 
are the flags captured in battle. The mosaic pave- 
ment about the tomb bears the names of notable 
battles, and all that human aid could bring, through 
art, to do him honor, seems done. Two sarcophagi 
contain the remains of his brothers, Joseph and 
Jerome, the latter figuring in our own history as the 
husband of our beautiful countrywoman, Elizabeth 
Patterson, but whom he was obliged to repudiate 
through Napoleon's am1)ition. 

The Palace of Versailles takes another day. 
Through a long avenue of stately trees, whose 
branches, meeting above us, formed an arbor, we 
approached the great Parade in front of the Palace. 
Its foundation was in 1624, but later Louis Four- 
teenth, the Grand Monarch, continued its erection 
and decoration. He would not be forgotten, for we 
are confronted at every turn by his statue, or paint- 
ing, or something to remind us of them. This Palace 
has occupied a prominent position in the history of 



Cork — Paris — Versailles. 1 37 

I'rancc. The ^rouiuls, dcsii^ncd l)y Lenotrc, to- 
gether with the roads leachng here, cost two huiuh'cd 
millions alone. The fountains arc marble, the water 
having to be forced up hill. The " Royal Walk," 
with its carefully tended sward, lined with statuary, 
and leading from the front of the Palace to the foun- 
tain, is a dream. Turning to the Palace, we pass 
through room after room decorated by Vernet and 
Lebrun's paintings, gold, marble, satins, Ck)belin 
tapestries, magnificence piled upon magnificence. 
The various galleries contain priceless paintings; and 
to the honor of the German soldiers, when this place 
was occupied by them, after the conquest of France 
by Germany in 1871. nothing was mutilated nor de- 
stroyed, but the paintings covered and protected. In 
(he " Glass Gallery " the King of Prussia was pro- 
claimed Emperor of Germany; Queen Victoria was 
entertained when visiting Napoleon III. in 1855; and 
here in 1(804 ^''^is vScventh gave a Pontifical bene- 
diction. Under the new Republicm form, President 
Carnot presided at a grand function. 

As we strolle<l through room after room and gal- 
lery after gallery, the records of In-ance for hundreds 
of years passed before us. The famous Ox-eye room 
contains paintings of honis I-'nurU-t-nth and family 
as gods and goddesses. Here Mai'ie .Antoinette fled 
from her own apartments when the mob entered the 



138 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

Palace in 1789. This brings us back to that mem- 
orable October clay, when the maddened Parisians, 
hungry and desperate, swarmed over the grand espla- 
nade and through the avenues with shouts and noisy 
songs and cries for bread, and a deputation of women, 
wet and bedraggled, forced their way into the rooms 
where, with bated breath, the King and court sat, 
fearing their fate. A flattering, evasive answer is 
given; night comes on, and torches but make the 
scene more dreadful. Then comes Lafayette with his 
soldiers; but this causes only a lull. With morning 
the first blow is struck; men and women swarm over 
the marble court and up the grand stairway, where 
the Swiss guards, hired for the Palace, endeavor in 
vain to shelter the Queen's apartments. She rushes 
to her children and her husband, and yet again she 
breathes when the tramp of the French guard is 
heard. Lafayette returns, and a truce occurs for 
consultation. He leads the Queen out on the bal- 
cony, and bravely she faces the mob. Then, like the 
chivalrous knight he was, he raises her hand to his 
lips, as if to answer for her, and the fickle crowd cries 
out: "Vive la Reine!" 

So we stroll and wonder and dream, while his- 
tory, that faithful chronicler, presents in detail the 
successive tenants of these matchless halls. Almost 
as if in mockery, here, where Napoleon is so often 



Cork — Paris — Versailles. 139 

depicted in triumph, stands a marble statue of the 
dethroned majesty, sitting alone, forgotten, dejected, 
and dying. Out in the grounds we find the Trianons, 
associated with memories of Madame de Maintenon, 
another innocent victim of slanderous tongues, as 
well as Marie Antoinette's attempt with her court to 
relax from state formalities. 

The lovely Fontainel:)lcau was next visited, with 
its memories of King Louis Ninth, the Saint, and his 
mother, the beloved Blanche of Castile, who resided 
in the neighborhood during her husband's absences 
in war. It was she who founded the Abbey de Lys, 
and under its shadow formed the character of her 
son. to whom she said: " My son, I love thee dearly; 
l)Ut I would rather see thee dead than that thou 
shouldst sully thy soul by one mortal sin." So on, 
the royalties and learned men, the political intrigues, 
the loves and despairs, down to Catherine de Medici's 
reign. Henry of Navarre, even sweet Mary Stuart, 
have l)een at Fontaincl)lcau; as Louis XIII., Rich- 
elieu, Mazat-in, and Catherine of Sweden. Pius VII. 
came, first, as guest of Napoleon T. to crown him, 
and nine years later was brought here a prisoner. 
A story was once told me of an interview between 
Napoleon and the Holy Father, in which the Fm- 
peror, angered at the resistance to his will, in his 
frenzv, whether accidentalK- nr intcntionallv, struck 



140 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

the Pontiff, and cried: "The old fool! Does he 
think the muskets of the Old Guard will fall from 
their hands?" Yet a little later the guns of the Old 
Guard did, literally, fall from their hands in their 
retreat from Moscow. From the grand horse-shoe 
staircase, by which we entered the Palace, Napoleon 
bade adieu to the Old Guard. As we stood on this 
magnificent staircase, the incidents of that mournful 
20th of April passed before us, when Napoleon, hav- 
ing abdicated, and on the eve of -his departure for 
Elba, bade that memorable adieu. One by one, with 
various excuses, his officers had taken their depart- 
ure. But few remained faithful in the dark hour of 
adversity — Bertrand, Drouot, and several others. 
Wishing to bid his Old Guard farewell, he had them 
drawn around him in the castle yard, addressing them 
thus: "Soldiers, you, my old companions in. arms, 
who have always accompanied me in the road to 
honor, we must at length separate. I might have 
remained longer among you, but to do so I should 
have prolonged a bitter struggle, adding, perhaps, 
civil to foreign war, and I could not bear the idea of 
longer convulsing France. Enjoy the repose you 
have so justly earned, and be happy. As for me, do 
not pity me. I have a mission, and it is to fulfill that 
that I consent to live, and this mission is to relate to 
posterity the great deeds we have performed to- 



Cork — Paris — Versailles. 141 

gether." General Petit stood near him, holding the 
standard. Napoleon clasped to his breast the Gen- 
eral and the standard, and amid the tears and cheers 
of all present, and with tears in his own eyes, entered 
the carriage that was to bear him away to his first 
exile. The table on which he signed his abdication 
is here, duly marked. We passed through the throne 
room, the ball room, the bedchamber, where his tor- 
tured mind banished sleep, and even suicide was at- 
tempted, into the dining-room, where, it is said, he 
first intimated to Josephine his intention regarding 
the divorce. Sad commentary on ambition, when for 
it he defied the Church, wrecked his own happiness, 
tortured the faithful heart of Josephine, putting away 
the wife he loved so much, as according to his his- 
torian. Las Casas, her name was the last on his lijis: 
" France, armee. Josephine." Strange " child of the 
Church." as he called himself, we thought, as we 
paused in the gilded prison of Pius VII. 

In the beautiful forest of Fontainebleau of forty- 
two thousand acres we drove for hours over miles of 
perfect roads, through enchanting scenery, resting 
the eye and mind after viewing so much grandeur in 
the Palace, and half expecting in some turn in the 
woods to come upon a party of lords and ladies in 
hunting costumes. 



CHAPTER IX. 

LOURDES — ANTWERP — RUBENS — QUENTIN 
MATSYS — BRUSvSELS — WATERLOO — CO- 
LOGNE—THE DOM — ST. URSULA. 

Now for Lourdes, where our hearts have been 
turning amid all the whirl of intoxicating Paris. The 
trip was most disagreeable from heat and dust, and 
we were glad to get to our hotel at midnight. Apart 
from the religious fervor with which the Christian 
heart greets this spot, where our Blessed Lady vouch- 
safed her apparitions, the natural situation is very 
beautiful. On a rocky spur stands the ancient Castle 
of Lourdes, the key to the Pyrenees, considered im- 
pregnable in the early ages, and occupied by robber 
chieftains, who preyed on the surrounding country. 
A legend says Charlemagne, attacking it, was about 
to raise the siege, when an eagle dropped a fish it had 
just captured in the neighboring water, on one of the 
towers. The then infidel commander, noticing the 
fish, the symbol of Christianity, was converted, and 
insisted that he become the Knight ot our Lady, and 
the land should belong to her alone. The arms of 
the city bear the eagle and the fish. The village, 
built around the Castle, was inhabited by a simple, 
pious people, who pursued their several trades or 




h4 



O 



Loitrdes — Antwerp — Waterloo — Cologne. 143 

tilled the sunny fields up to the memorable Fel)ruary 
dav of 1858, when, in the Grotto of Massabielle, on 
the banks of Gave, the little Bernadette Soubirous, 
with some companions, was gathering fagots, when 
she, delicate and frail, was distanced by her com- 
panions. Suddenly she heard a strange sound, and 
looking about in fright, beheld the most wonderfully 
beautiful form among the rocks; and the innocent. 
ignorant child fell upon her knees and began to recite 
her rosary, the only prayer she knew. The other 
children noted her devotion, but as such is common 
among these pious people, they continued their work, 
and returning, the little girl told them of lier vision, 
but her mother merely forbade her to go there again, 
as she regarded it as a hallucination. Drawn to the 
spot, she obtained permission from her parents to 
return, and again and again she visited the Grotto, to 
be rewarded each time by the apparition, which many 
supposed, from her description, to l)e a ])oor soul in 
need of prayers. Only to her was it visible, and to 
her was it announced: " 1 am the hnmacniate Con- 
ception." The great excitement drew crowds of 
people, who witnessed her ecstasy during the time 
of the apparition. The government took the matter 
up; scientists of all classes came to cxanunc into the 
phenomenon. The most shrewd ollieers of the law 
questioned and cross-questioned again and again the 



144 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

simple child, but her answers were always firm and 
to the point, and no one could contuse her. The 
Abbe Peyramale, unwilling to encourag-e any imagi- 
nary occurrences, made every test, even to the de- 
manding of a miracle. And the roses bloomed in 
February on the barren rock where our Lady desired 
a church to be built. Every effort, by bribery, by 
force, or by threats, failed to shake the testimony of 
the little girl. She had been told to drink of the 
fountain, but there was nothing but sand; told to 
dig, she stirred the sand, and a stream started forth, 
which to this day runs clear and cold down into the 
river Gave near by. Thousands now assembled from 
the surrounding country, and one day a poor mother, 
who had long watched her dying child, snatched it, 
apparently dead, from its cradle, and rushing by those 
who feared she was crazy, plunged the babe into the 
icy water, praying earnestly; and returning to her 
cottage with her seemingly frozen child, laid it in its 
crib. After twelve hours' sleep, the little paralytic 
rose from its bed completely cured. This was the 
first miracle of the thousands that have occurred here, 
fully establishing the supernatural agency. To-day, 
however, high over the rocks rises the magnificent 
basilica, enriched by offerings from every land on 
earth. To-day pilgrims flock, and faith is revived; 
conversions have been numberless. The little humble 



Lourdcs — .bifii.'rrf^ — JJ'afcrloo — Cologne. 145 

village among- the Pyrenees has now all the facilities 
of modern travel to acconnnodate the flow of visitors. 
Here pious souls find happiness; the restless, repose; 
the miserable, peace. To see, as we saw, the thou- 
sands in solemn procession, with prayer and hymns 
and lighted candles, thronging the paths, pausing in 
front of the great church, illumined from base to pin- 
nacle with colored electric lights, the murmur of the 
Gave over its rocks, the stars watching calmly above, 
it seemed the gate of heaven. 

The little Bernadette retired into conventual life 
for years before her death, knowing nothing of the 
wonders which she was chosen to be the instrument 
to evoke. In her humble home we stood and looked 
upon her childish siu'roundings, now carefully pre- 
served. The good Henry Lasserre, the eminent 
French gentleman, who has, out of gratitude, given 
to the world the annals of Lourdes, was afflicted with 
the loss of sight. A Protestant friend challenged 
him to appeal to our Lady. " If I were like you, a 
believing Catholic, I would certainly try this chance. 
I earnestly recommend it;" and so, in accordance 
with a long and affectionate letter from this man of 
science, after much hesitation, Lasserre obtained the 
water from Lourdes, and to his astonishment and 
terror, as he describe^ it. his cure was instantaneous. 
We entered the church where l>ernadette was bap- 
(7) 



146 Memories of a Red-Letter Stiminer. 

tized, and learned with regret that it is to be demol- 
ished and rebuilt. 

Around the little town many curious customs 
were observed; and here, as in many other places. 
we saw cows used as beasts of burden, sometimes 
hitched to a wagon wath a donkey. Here among the 
Pyrenean scenery, so close to Spain, we noted many 
pilgrims in their peculiar dress, and drove for miles 
thrpugh the mountains. 

Doctor Verger, a learned physician, Fellow of the 
Faculty of Montpelier, has made searching investiga- 
tion of miracles at Lourdes. He says: " I am asked 
what I have seen at Lourdes. In answer a few words 
will suffice. I have seen well authenticated facts — 
facts beyond the power of science or art; works 
wrought b}' hand of the Divinity. Miracles! I have 
seen natural water gifted with supernatural powers. 
I have seen this water restore to health a child in the 
agony of death. I have seen it restore sight to an 
eye injured beyond any aid from science. I have 
seen it restore life and movement to totally para- 
lyzed limbs; I have seen it cure ulcers of the worst 
description. Such were some of its first operations. 
The harvest has been rich, abundant, and of long 
duration." 

Thanking God for having permitted us to visit 
this holy spot, we returned to Paris, with its funny 



Loiirdcs — Aiiti^crf' — ]l\itcr.hio — Cologne. 147 

looking" horses, with straw hats for protection from 
the sun and heavily fringed hoofs, like pantalettes; 
the sidewalks crowded with little tables, at which 
people sit, merrily dining, drinking or smoking. At 
the hotel, with its "rosbif," which we do not accept 
without a doubt, we at last pack our belongings for 
departure, l)i(lding farewell to the good madame,who, 
with her English-speaking husband, has endeavored 
to niake pleasant the stay and comforting the meals, 
as nearly as possible to the tastes of the American 
ladies. The French women seem to have an apti- 
tude for business, and in many shops we visited took 
precedence of the husband. 

Here our party separated, some taking cars for 
Cherbourg, where they embarked for the States. 
Business calling us to London for a few days, we 
embarked from there for Antwerp, thinking, as the 
name suggests itself, of the "Ankworks package," by 
which Sairey Gani]) saw the attem])tcd departure of 
Jonas Chuzzlewit and jjoor Mercy. I hope, for the 
ccjmfort of the tras'eling ])nblic. that the packet may 
not always be so crowded as when we took it, and 
three of us were crushed into tiny quarters with two 
talkative -English women, whose giggling merriment 
betokened numerinis libaticjus, a conunon custom 
among them. 

Entering the ri\cr Scheldt, we Sdnn reached the 



148 Memories of a Red-Let fer Summer. 

old city of Antwerp, once queen of commerce, but 
now much reduced. The beautiful Cathedral towers 
are the first object to attract the eye. The bells 
seem to be ever ringing; the musical chimes like me- 
lodious notes tumbling over each other out of the 
sky. Rubens' masterpieces are here, the Elevation 
of, and the Descent from the Cross. I stood spell- 
bound before the former, as all was so real; the living 
muscles in the straining arms, the intent faces, the 
impending agony of the Divine Savior; one almost 
heard the words, "Father, forgive them!" A num- 
ber of Vandyck's pictures are also here. The massive 
pulpit was elaborately carved. We were shown a fine 
piece of iron work, reputed to be by the " Blacksmith 
of Antwerp," Ouentin Matsys, before he laid down 
the hammer for the painter's brush. He has a mon- 
ument on the public square. In a large space stood 
a screened statue of Our Lady, said to have miracu- 
lously appeared there, and around which the church 
was built eight hundred years ago. Of course we 
obtained the removal of the screen to inspect it. 

An hour's ride brings us to Brussels, the capital, 
and called the " Paris of Belgium." Our first visit 
was to the old Cathedral of St. Gudule, where the 
pulpit is a masterpiece of the carver's art. The base 
represents Adam and Eve being driven from Eden 
by the angel with the flaming sword. It seems in- 




pq 



Loiirdcs — Antwerp — Waterloo — Cologne. 149 

cre(lil)le that this should be carved; one would think 
it must have grown so. The toml)S of the Dukes of 
Bra1)ant are here. The fiower market attracted us 
by its beauties, and the ride through the Bois de la 
Cambre was much like that through the Parisian 
Bois de Boulogne. The Church of Notre Dame du 
Sablon, or Churth of the Crossl)Owman, is very okl, 
and attending Mass here we noted, instead of pews, 
the European custom of renting chairs, used also as 
l^ric diciix. On this square are fine statues of Counts 
Egmont and Hoorn, decapitated in 1508 during the 
Spanish wars. A fountain is here, surrounded by ele- 
gantly fashioned iron railings, held in place by forty- 
eight stone pillars, each adorned l)y a smaller statue. 
One is everywhere confronted with memories of the 
struggles against the Spaniards. A grand equestrian 
statue of Godfrey de Bouillon, in Crusader's dress, 
stands on the spot where he aroused the people to 
enlist under the banner of the Cross in 1097, and 
being made the first King of Jerusalem, refused to 
wear the ro}'al crown where his Savior had worn one 
of thorns. 

The Palace of Justice and that of the King; the 
Bfjurse, Hotel de Ville — magnificence everywhere 
confronts the eye. Outside the city is the famed site 
of Waterloo. We could imagine how — 



150 Memories of a Rcd-l,etter Summer. 

" There was a sound of revelry by night, 
And Belgium's capital had gather'd there 
Her beauty and her chivalry; and bright 
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men," 

when the gay revelers at the ball given by the 
Countess of Richmond heard the booming of the 
cannon that announced the opening of the battle, 
when WelHngton and Napoleon met on the fatal field 
which was the first step to St. Helena. 

Passing through Aachen, or Aix la Chapelle, we 
recalled memories of Charlemagne, of whom many 
relics are here, as also sacred relics of our Lord and 
his Blessed Mother in the ancient Cathedral, exhib- 
ited once in seven years. Like the Cologne Cathe- 
dral, his Satanic majesty is credited with the plan, 
stipulating to the architect that the first living being 
passing the door after its completion, should be his 
property, but a wolf was sent through first. A brazen 
wolf stands here, but whether to commemorate that 
fable or as a reminder of Romulus, during the early 
occupation by the Romans, is uncertain. Cologne 
comes next, with its inagnificent " Dom " overlook- 
ing everything; the great center of interest for tour- 
ists, for historic and religious interest. Founded 
twelve hundred years ago, one may easily believe 
that the present structure was eight hundred years 
in building. We also hear the legend of Satan's fur- 



Lotinics — - //,'/Ti'(',"/' — II 'atcvioo — i\ilogne. 151 

nishing the plans in rctni'n for the architect's soul. 
The guide who directed us was not sure of the archi- 
tect who ])lanned it, l)Ut the name Gerald von Rile 
has been recognized. One l)eautiful legend con- 
nected with this grand edifice is that related of 
Albertus Magnus, the famed Dominican, who is 
buried here in the Church of St. Andre. Once, while 
engTossed in the idea of a grand cathedral, he had a 
vision, in which foiu' men with white cassocks, with 
crowns of burnished gold on their heads, entered his 
cell, followed by our T^ady in all her celestial beauty. 
One man bore a pair of compasses, the second a 
mason's square, the third a rule, and the fourth a 
le\-el. At a sign from our Lady, thev proceeded to 
sketch in lines of fire on the walls of the cell a mag- 
nificent plan. " The pillar's rose, the arches curved 
to meet them, and two majestic towers soared into 
the blue vault of heaven." The vision vanished, but 
the plan was traced on his memory, and he drew it 
and presented it to Archbishop Conrad. This was 
carried out. and the building rose from generation 
to generation, until it now stands a wonder of the 
world. Tn this connection T select these words from 
an address by an eloquent priest: 

" It is our faith, this vivid realization of the supernatural, that 
enabled men in ages long gone by, to rise superior to their 



152 Memories of a Rcd-Lcttcr Snnirncr. 

mortal destiny and fashion works so grand and deathless, that 
we, in these late*- times, when faith is cold and weak, can but 
gaze upon them and admire, but never hope to imitate. It was ■ 
that faith, laboring not for time or man alone, but for eternity 
and God, that inspired the brush of Raphael and Murillo, the 
chisel of Angelo and the pen of Dante; that drew heavenly music 
from the soul of Mozart, and kindled the fire of matchless elo- 
quence in O'Connell's Irish breast. It was this faith, whose 
effects are the same in every age, that fired with most miselfish 
heroism the heart of man and gave the world that host of noble 
souls from John de Malha to Damien of Molokai." 

Returning to the Cathedral: Much to the shame 
of the French, they stabled their horses here, and 
rings in the walls still remain where they placed them. 
The Prussian Kings, Frederick and William, finally 
took the matter in hand, and saved the venerable pile, 
completing it in 1880. So solid, imposing, majestic, 
yet, taken in detail, how delicate each carven, taper- 
ing pinnacle! One interior column is eighty feet in 
circumference. One bell weighs twenty-five tons. In 
the treasury is the reliquary of the Magi, magnifi- 
cent, as becomes such a repository, with its gold, pre- 
cious stones, and elal:)orate workmanship. Among 
the many relics is a monstrance, a solid rock crystal, 
hollowed out and surrounded by precious stones, two 
thorns from our Lord's crown, links from St. Peter's 
chains, and the staff of his crosier. A curious crucifix 
from the ninth centurv is here, the crown of thorns 



Lourdcs — Aiitivcrh — Waterloo — Cologne. 153 

absent, the sacred feet separately ])ierce(l, reciniring 
four nails; the wound in the side is not seen. 

A most remarkable painting- is liere, tlie " Dom- 
bild." a threc-wino-ed |)iece of work, set up in elegant 
framing", and dating from I-I50. One of the bells is 
called the Emperor's Bell, and is cast from cannon 
captured in the war with iM'ance in 1871. It bears 
a long Latin inscription, testifying to gratitude for 
the success of the (icrman arms. One side bears a 
figure of St. Peter, the other the German escutcheon, 
and \'erse translated reads: 

" I'm called the Enipcror's bell, the Kinperor's praise I tell. 
On holy ground I stand, and for German land, 
Beseech God may please to L^rant it peace and ease." 

A stained glass \\'ind()w from 1509 rci)resents the 
family tree of otu' v^avior. springing from Abraham. 
Tdcre is a gigantic statue '')f St. Christo])her, beai-ing 
the Christ Child, under whose tin_\- form the saint 
labors with straining nuisclcs; and we noted through 
Euro])e nuich. de\-oii(in to him ,-nid vSt. Roche, always 
represented willi his slafi" and dog. .\t the Cathedral 
we had the pleasure of witnessing a grand nuptial 
affair, and noted the customs, so strange to trs. 

In the Chin-ch of St. I'rstda, formerly k-nr)wu as 
the Cluu-ch i>\ the Virgins, are ranged .about the walls, 
in friezes ,'ind grim ilccdi'Ml i( ms. and vvcrv possible 



I 54 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

place, the bones of eleven thousand Virgins, who in 
405, with St. Ursula, suffered martyrdom by the Huns 
under Attila. The story goes that at that time the 
Picts and Scots had so annoyed the Christians of the 
southern part of England, and the Anglo-Saxons, 
whose aid they had asked, had grown covetous, and 
had in turn made them miserable; many went to Ger- 
many to seek refuge under the milder Roman gov- 
ernment. St. Ursula, of noble birth and great vir- 
tues, became the center of pious females, whose 
fathers and brothers had either perished, or were 
with the armies. When the fierce Huns swept 
through the country, St. Ursula and her attendants 
were cruelly massacred by arrows, swords and clubs. 
Their pilgrimage to Rome is depicted in many places. 
In later years their bones were gathered, and this 
church was built on the spot. Those of the Saint 
were especially honored by a golden casket. Many 
of the skulls are in glass cases, encircled by silver 
bands, and some bear the marks of the cleaving 
sword. Here is also an alabaster water jar from 
Cana, brought to Cologne by a Knight from the 
Holy Land. 

In the Church of St. Gereon lie the bones of some 
of the martyred Theban Legion. The Church of St. 
Mary Capitola was founded by the grandmother of 



I.i'iinlcs — Aiitwcr[> — IWUcrloo — Cnlogiic. 155 

Charlemaq'ne. Her tonil) is in the ery]n, the marble 
effig"}" iiuich worn by time. I'ortions of the original 
ehurch are well preserx-ed. and near by, below the 
pave, are remnants of a i\oman wall exposed. 

We observed a house, from the attic of which two 
wooden horses were looking out. They commemo- 
rate a remarkable event, which took place during the 
raging of the plague in 1400. The \\'ife of a noble 
gentleman was seized, and apparently died. Her 
wedding ring, which had 1)een left on her finger, was 
noted by the grave diggers, who attempted later to 
steal it. 'i'he effort awakened her from the trance in 
which she was, and, esca])ing from her opened coffin, 
she ran lo her husband's house, who refused lo admit 
her, saying: " My dearest wife is dead, and it were 
as possible for my horses to ascend to the top of the 
house and look out of the windows, as that she should 
return to life." Immediately the horses' feet were 
heard on the stairs, and they ascended, as he said. 
The wife was joyousl)' recogiu'zed, and lix-ed for years 
afterwards. 

The rn'ms of Cologne are ele\'en llames for the 
Virgins and lin-ee crowns foi- tlu' {\\\\-v Kings. in 
Cologne Rubens was born, and Marie de Medicis 
died. From Cologne we took steamer for a trip on 
the classic Rhine, along whose shores e\ery foot of 



156 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

ground is historic. Here nearly all the great war- 
riors have fought, down to the present generation. 
Here on the Rhine is a hridge of boats. We 
spent considerable time in this old city, going and 
returning, and our memories of it are golden. The 
majestic '' Dom " seemed to overshadow everything. 



CHAPTER X. 

ON THE RHINE — RUINED CASTLES — LORELEI 

— BINGEN — LUCERNE — INTERLAKEN — 

MT. ST. BERNARD — HISTORIC 

ASSOCIATIONS. 

Leaving Cologne, the city of Bonn is soon passed, 
with its famous Univei\sity. It was the birthplace of 
Beethoven, and the foundation of one of the oldest 
Roman fortresses. Under the new Rhine bridge is a 
seated statue of Caesar, and here is one of the points 
where he crossed the Rhine. 

" Buttress, battlements and tower, 
Remnants hoar of Roman power. 
Monuments of Caesar's sway, 
Piecemeal mouldering away." 

We soon enter the moimtains and the ruined 
castles on the stony crags, recalling the days of the 
robl)er barons. Kach ruin has its legend. On the 

sunnnil of tlic liiglicst of tlie seven moimtains stands 
Drachcnfels. 

" The castled crags of Drachenfels 

Frown oer the broad and winding Rhine, 
Whose breast of waters broadly swells 

Between tin- l).-inks wbicli ln-ar the vine." 

Below is the cavern, where Siegfried slew the dragon 



158 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

and bathed in its 1)lood, and winCvS produced here are 
called Dragon's blood. Travelers on the Rhine are 
treated to a little l)ook, called " Legends of the 
Rhine," which read very prettily, but are not always 
authentic. One tells of Rolandseck, where Roland, 
one of Charlemagne's Paladins, built for himself a 
castle to overlook a convent, where he might every 
day behold among the nuns his sweetheart, who had 
taken the veil on hearing of his death, and his and 
her despair accordingly. Accepted traditions say that 
Roland died in battle in Spain, and that Charlemagne 
had his remains brought honie and tenderly interred. 

Coblentz is a finely fortified place, and has a 
bridge of boats. The junction of the Moselle and 
Rhine recalls not only song, but the reputation of 
fine wines. Two of France's most noted Generals, 
and most beloved, Marceau and Hoche, are remem- 
bered here. " Their mourners were two hosts, their 
friends and foes." Here, also, history relates that 
Caesar crossed in 53 B.C. 

At Mayence, Germany, was lately commemorated 
the five hundredth anniversary of the birth of the 
pious monk, Guttenberg, the father of printiui;. The 
first use he made of his movable types was to print 
a co]>y of the Bible, thus refuting the falsehood that 
the Catholic Church was hostile to the spread of the 
Scripture. She preserved the Bible for fifteen hun- 




The Mouse Tower on the Rhine. 



The Rhine — Bingen — Lucerne — Intcrlaken. 159 

dred years, until Henry VIII. and his associates 
began their so-called " Reformation." We passed the 
famous Lorelei Rocks, but the sirens have probably 
abandoned their luring of poor sailors by their songs, 
in the presence of steamboats and the penetration of 
their haunts by a railroad tunnel. An odd-looking 
building in mid stream had several marvelous stories 
told of it. It was probably a toll-house, and also a 
prison, as there are said to be dungeons beneath. 

At beautiful Rheinstein, on a high cliff, stands the 
castle famous for many years in history. It was re- 
stored by Prince Frederick of Prussia about 1825. 
At his death his body was interred in the tiny chapel. 
We obtained admittance, and were shown around the 
many chambers, perfect treasure-houses of most in- 
teresting antiques. The view of the Rhine and sur- 
rounding country ffom the battlements was lovely, 
and as we contemplated the scene, we dreamed over 
many of the romances connected with the classic 
" Vater Rhine." Below us, near the water's edge, 
stands a chapel, dedicated to St. Clement, built many 
years ago, tradition tells us, for the repose of the souls 
of the robber barons executed by order of Rudolph 
of Hapsburg. The Mouse Tower, made so nnich of 
by Southey, is a sort of signal station for boats and 
pilots. Imoui the Lorelei to Bingen the rocks are 
so treacherous as to recpiire special pilots. Opposite 



i6o Memories of a Red- Letter Sttnimer. 

Bingen, high up on tlie Neiderwakl, is the great 
national monument, composed of guns captured from 
the French. Germania stands with crown and lau- 
reled sword, proud and possessing. We heard at 
our hotel some students singing " The Watch on the 
Rhine," which seemed here so approjM'iate: 

'■ A roar lilcc tlnindcr strikes the car, 
Like clang of arms or breakers near, 
On for the Rhine, the German Rhine^ 
Who shield tlu'c, my beloved Rhine. ' 
Dear Fatherland, thou needst not fear — 
Thy Rhineland waich stands firmly here." 

Bingen is a pretty German town. From here we 
drove in several directions, one up a long, winding 
road, through heautiful forests, to St. Roche's chapel, 
on the sunnuit of a high hill. Mrs. Norton's beautiful 
lines are recalled here: 

" A soldier of the legion lay dying in Algiers; 
Inhere was lack ot woman's nursing, there was dearth of 

woman's tears. 
Take a message and a token to some distant friends of mine, 
For I was born at Bingen, loved Bingen on the Rhine." 

While in London we had met an American gentle- 
man, who was an experienced traveler, and he advised 
us to always buy Cook's tickets. This did not neces- 
sitate joining their excursions, for we preferred to 
" personally conduct " ourselves, thus being confined 




Pi 



77k' Rhine — niiii^cii — Lucerne — I nterlakcn. i6i 

to no particular time or j)lace. Purchasiiii^ these 
tickets at their agenc}', and mentioning- the places we 
wished to visit, our itinerary was completely planned ; 
we had only to enter the cars, hand our tickets to the 
guard, stop off where and when we pleased, and re- 
sume our journey the same, thus avoiding the con- 
fusion and trouble of railway offices and strange lan- 
guages. Several times we left our trunks, traveling 
only with hand baggage, which the porters at the sta- 
tions speedily relieved us of. We had only to men- 
tion our destination, our class or hotel, and follow our 
leader. The comparati\'ely short distances between 
different frontiers made this ])lan less troublesome, 
avoiding the dragging of hea\'y baggage from the 
vans to be inspected at the custom houses. Euro- 
]3ean travelers have many discomforts to endure at 
the best, and we often longed for our Pullmans, with 
the buffet, ice water, and ventilation. At every hotel 
we found an English-s])caking clerk, and as each of 
us had some kncnvledge of other languages, our only 
trouble was shopping in Germany, as we had not 
mastered the intricacies of that one. 

Leaving Bingen and continuing to Lucerne, the 
scenery continues to grow more grand. Here lies 
the beautiful lake, surrounded by mountains, one 
thousand four hundred and thirty-three feet above 
sea level. Sweet io the ear was the sound of the 



1 62 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

Angelus bell, pealing from the tower of the old 
Church of St. Leodgear, built in honor of the Saint, 
who was put to death by order of Theodoric's rep- 
resentative. This building has two tall, tapering 
towers, dating from 1506; the organ from 1651. 
Around the church lies the cemetery, surrounded by 
cloisters, each tomb with holy water stoup and brush, 
asking prayers for the souls. This part of Switzer- 
land remained true to the Faith during the stormy 
period of the so-called Reformation. A remarkable 
monument is here, to the fidelity of the Swiss guards 
who fell in defending the French Palace in 1 792 — a 
lion carved on the .side of a gfeat rock, wounded to 
death, but still protecting the standard; the inscrip- 
tion, "Helvetiorum fidei ac virtute" — "To the fidelity 
and courage of the Swiss." Near by. Mass is often 
offered for their souls. An altar cloth in the chapel 
is a gift of one of the children of Marie Antoinette, 
whom they defended. 

A very ancient covered bridge across the river 
Reuss contains many old paintings. This is the Tell 
country, Switzerland's cradle of Hberty, and abounds 
in Tell memorials. Tell's Chapel is on the spot where 
he sprang on shore from Gessler's boat, when the 
tyrant had had his fetters removed to aid in steering 
in a storm, and here Mass is offered once a year, and 
the patriotic Swiss come in pilgrimage. At Altdorf, 



The Rhine — Biii^^cii — l.iiccnic — Intcrlakcn. 163 

where he shot the apple from his son's head, a statue 
represents them in an affectionate pose — a crossl)o\v 
o\er the father's shoulders, the hoy's face bearing a 
look as if " assured that heaven its justice will pro- 
claim, and to his father give unerring aim." Near 
l)y is Rutli, where tradition says the three founders 
of Swiss liberty met and bound themselves by oath. 
Referring to the thought thaf Tell may be a myth, 
the English scholar Buckle says he " relies more on 
the strength of local traditions and native bards than 
anything else." Near l)y is the scene of the patriotic 
self-martyrdom of Arnold \-on Winkelreid, who, com- 
mitting his wife and children to his people, cried, "I 
will open a path to lil)ert}-." and rushing forward on 
the lances of the Austrians, led his OAvn men to ter- 
ribly bought \'ictory. In Lucerne the glacial gar- 
dens are of much interest to geologists. The national 
c|uay forms a lovel\' promenade, and from here the 
views of the lake and mountain are su])erb. Of the 
Alpine sunrise, our own ]:)oetess. Helen Hunt Jack- 
son, writes: 

'■ In Alpine valleys, they who watch for morn 
Look never to the east; but fix their eyes 
On loftier mountain peaks of snow which rise 
To west or south. Before the happy morn 
Has sent one ray of kindlinR red to warn 
The .sleeping clouds along the eastern skies, 
That it is near, flusliins^ in glad surprise 



164 Memories of a Rcd-Lcttcr Summer. 

These ro)'aI hills, for royal watclinien born, 
Discover that God's great, new day begins. 
And, shedding from their sacred brows a light 
Prophetic, wake the valley from its night." 

The Alpine sunsets are incomparable! And the 
after glow! 

" Jnst for one hour to see the afterglow 
Tinge rosy red the pathless fields of snow, 
To see it spread across the mountain's breast, 
From clif^ to clili, till, on some lofty crest 
It kindles cnQ lone light of crimson ray 
And softly dies — this last, last fire of day." 

In the Wein Markt is a foundation with monu- 
ment containing the statue of St. Maurice in knightly 
dress, and below him several Knights, in coats of 
mail, occupy niches. St. Maurice was commander 
of the Theban Legion, raised in Thebais, or Upper 
Egypt. They were yoimg Christians, and officered 
by Christians, were marching with the rest of the 
Roman army against Gaul, imder Maximian, who 
ordered the army to offer sacrifice for succor. The 
Legion refused, and retired to the spot occupied by 
the monastery of St. Maurice, where their numbers 
were decimated day l\v day till all were gone. Some 
of the companies of this Legion were sent to the 
Rhine country, under Gereon, where they also suf- 
fered martyrdom for Christianity. At Cologne, in 



The Rhine — Biiigcii — Liiccnu- — JntcyJakcn. i 65 

the Church of St. Gereon, we had venerated them. 
One of the old 1)ridg'cs across the Reuss here, with 
l)ictiires from the Dance of Death, recalls these lines: 

■ All who go to and Iro nui.-t look on it, 
Mindful of what they shall lie, while beneath 
Anions' the v/otiden piles the rixiT rushes impetuously." 

We rode up the mountain side one morning to 

hear Mass in the old C\'ii)tichin Chiu'ch, ])assing the 

stations of the Cross near the con\'ent. ( )ut on the' 

lake a sail takes us ])ast a large rock, hearing" an in- 

scri|)tion in honor of Schiller, whose verse emjjalmed 

the memories of tlu- Swiss heroes. Over Lucerne 

one great mountain ]:)cak is ca.lled Pilatus. 'Phe stor}' 

goes that PoiUius I'ilate, being banished from Judea. 

w.andering oxer the world conscience stricken, threw 

himself into the lake on its sunnnit. Being so high. 

a sort of ad\ance peak, the storms gather about it, 

and the snpei'stilious belief obtained that the rinn- 

blings were due to the tm(|uict bod\- in the lake. The 

ascent was fonnci"l\- foi'.biddt'u b\- law, btU it is now 

nmcli \isitc(l b\- toui'ists. 1 know, when in doubt 

aboiu the weathei", the nati\e casts his eye to this 

mountain. .\ chtud like a hood over it indicates fair 

weather; a streak below like a sword, a storm. 

" If I'il.itus wear his iiood, 
The weatlier will I); suri'ly Rood; 
But if I'ilatus don his sword, 
Thc-n rain will surely be the award." 



1 66 Memories of a Red-Letter Suuuiier. 

And so Pilatiis' sword prevented ns from ascending 
the Rigi during' the few days only that we could spare 
for Lucerne; but the sails around the lake were de- 
lightful, and noting the chalets away up the mountain 
sides, and hearing the so*igs of the natives, one could 
realize how dearly they love their mountains, and 
what "Heimweh" means to them. Leaving them to 
" pine and die, their sweet-breathed kine remember- 
'ing, and green Alpine pastures decked with flowers." 
Lovely Lucerne! fitting introduction to Switzerland, 
wdiich is called the "Playground of Europe." Now 
we take the Brunig Pass road and climb up up, up, 
through wildest scener}% past rushing mountain tor- 
rents and frowning rocks, and note the green pas- 
tures, where one would think the cattle would 
scarcely maintain a footing, Avhile far below us the 
deep, dark lakes reflect the scenery. Here, as in 
Germany, the women guard the railway crossings. 
Descending the mountain, we reach Brienz, and take 
boat for Interlaken. The ride through here about 
sunset was enchanting, and our ears were suddenly 
saluted by the song, " She was bred in old Ken- 
tucky," suggested prol^ably by a glance at one of 
our valises, on which the name of our proud old 
State was stamped. So the waters and mountains 
of Switzerland echo back the names so dear to us. 
There is a pretty fable connected with Interlaken, 



The Rhine — I^iniuvt — Lucerne — I nlerhiken. 167 

to the effect that when Dix'ine an^er coinniandcd 
Eden to he remoxech the angels hearing it were so 
dehg-hted with the scenery around the lungh-au and 
the lakes that the}' dro])[:)ed it there, and so it is Inter- 
laken, or " hetween tlie lakes." This is the heart of 
the Bernese 01)erland. An ancient monastery is here, 
dating from 1 130, hut heing suppressed, is now' a hos- 
pital. Trips to the Grindelwald glacier and other 
points are frequent. We went up Scheinige Platte, 
and sat on the crags watching the ])la}- of the clouds 
on the Jungfrau opposite; enjoyed our tea on these 
sublime heights, and watched the sure-footed goats 
scampering away at our approach. I'hese mountain 
railways are certainh' daring" feats of engineering, and 
our trip down disclosed the fact to us more ])ercept- 
il)l\- than the ascent. Reaching" our h(^tcl, I sat out 
in the ground watching the setting of the sun on the 
Jungfrau. The busy crowds passed to and fro, intent 
on pleasure; earthl}' sounds seemed to jar on my ears. 
I tell an awe, as if I were witnessing some mystery 
of nature, for while in tin- \allc\- around me the lamps 
were being lighted, a\\a\' u]) in tlie sk\- above me the 
sun changed, and sliified the lights and shadows from 
jjoint to poiin, initil the \;\^{ gleam on the virgin snow 
was like a ti]) of eli'clric light. This sight alone was 
worth ;i li'i]! across the oC(,'aii to see; and I was told 
that the \-iew was e\«'ei)lioual, the absence iif clnuds 



1 68 Memories of a Red- Letter Slimmer. 

being infrequent. I was reminded of what might 
have been the scene when Moses was called up to the 
mountain. So I turned again, when all was over, to 
the commonplaces of life, and the welcome dinner 
to which I had been impatiently summoned several 
times by others less enthusiastic on such subjects. 

From Interlaken we continued to Martigny, for 
from here we make the trip to the Great St. Bernard. 
The valley has not a good deputation for health, 
owing to the overflow of the Rhone. Here is much 
of that affliction called ''goitre." Dickens speaks of 
this in his travels in Switzerland, where the women, 
while at work, rested their goitre on a rock. As we 
approached Martigny, we saw Mt. Blanc towering 
ahead of us in its mantle of perpetual snow. Over 
our hotel was an old Roman tower in good preserva- 
tion. Our second day here found us making an early 
start by carriage to St. Bernard. The first part of 
the route was not particularly interesting, along the 
banks of the Dranse and throug-h a few poor villages. 
This is the way by which Napoleon, in 1800, crossed 
the Alps; and at St. Pierre, where the little inn still 
bears the sign, "Au Dejeuner de Napoleon," we 
stopped to rest, and dropped into a little church dating 
from the eleventh century. After ten hours of riding 
over perfect roads, most of the time under a blistering 
sun, we reached the famed Hospice just before dark. 




pq 



The Rhine — Bliiiicii — I .iiccnw — InicrUikcii. i 69 

But hot as the sun had l)ecn. its decline In-onght a 
chill in the air, which, C(jmhined Avith the great alti- 
tude, found us at the door cold, and g'lad indeed of 
the kindly welcome. We noted a number of people 
on our way, making short cuts up the mountain, ar- 
ri\ing almost as soon as ourselves, in our carriage, 
compelled to slowly follow the stee]:), winding road- 
way. Being Saturday, we found that the pious peas- 
antr}- come from all directions to spend the night in 
quarters prepared for them, to hear Mass on Sunday, 
and return afterwards to their homes. We had a 
good room, clean, comfortable beds, and were served 
with i)lain, but well cooked supper and breakfast. 
The dogs were lil)erated for our inspection, as they 
had been confined to their kennels for the night. 
Such great, l)eautiful creatures, running about, leap- 
ing with delight! Such noble heads and intelligent 
eyes! We ])lead guilty to coveting one for a com- 
panion to a certain little curly-headed boy far away 
in Kentucky. A temple of Jui)iter once stood 
here, and a plain is nauKMl for the god. Ivemains of 
Roman pavement and ste])S are seen, and in the . 
museum, where we were kindly conducted, are many 
intensely interesting relics of Redman origin found in 
the neighborhood. Here, eighty-two hundred feet 
al)o\e the sea, where no bird is seen in the aii', no tlsh 
in the lake, winch is frozen most of the \ear, these 



lyo Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

devoted men give their lives to the service of God in 
charity. The hardships are so great that scarcely 
ever more than fifteen years can be spent .here, and 
even then they must descend occasionally to the 
valley at Martigny to recuperate. Food, wood and 
hay must be carried for miles. Travelers generally 
bring the provender for their teams with them. This 
Pass has always been of importance. Now, in early 
spring and fall months, it is much frequented by those 
passing from one country to another for employment, 
while during the summer tourists are attracted by 
both natural and historic interest. The present Hos- 
pice dates back to 962, founded by St. Bernard, while 
evidence exists that prior to 851 a refuge existed 
here. Many religious and political revolutions have 
left their impress here, but still it stands a monument 
to Catholic charity. We were taken round the place 
by a priest, an elegant, cultivated French gentleman, 
who seemed pleased to show the curios and the 
library. A fine piano, presented by the Prince of 
Wales, stands in the visitors' room, while the com- 
. poser, Blumenthal, gave a harmonium. Apprecia- 
tive visitors have, in gratitude for hospitalities, sent 
many gifts, which brighten up the place, otherwise 
solitary, gloomy and desolate. We heard Mass in 
the chapel on Sunday morning, when the monks 
chanted the services, and we had opportunity to ob- 



The Rliinc — Bin gen — Lucerne — hiterlakcn. 171 

serve them. They were ah young looking, none 
apparently over forty; 1)Ul the altitude is very trying, 
and they do not live to old age. Quite a number of 
the visitors received Holy Communion. Napoleon 
erected here a monument over the body of his friend. 
General Dessaix. Napoleon said to him: " I will 
gi\-e }'ou the Alps for a monument." A tablet is on 
the wall in honor of Napoleon, which, translated, 
reads : 

" To the always august Emperor of the French, 

Napoleon First, 

Restorer of the Valesian Republic, 

Twice the conqueror of Egypt; 

Ever to be remembered by the grateful Republic of Valesia. 

December, 1804." 

The bodies of those found dead on the mountain 
were formerly preserved in the morgue, but I luider- 
stood the_\- had l)een buried. vSoon after l)reakfast 
we prepared for oui^ dejjarture. There are no stated 
charges for visitors, htit un^'i-ateful indeed would be 
one who would neglect to leave some pecimiary ac- 
knowledgment. A clergyman on a mission through 
this part of the coimtry thus writes of the Great St. 
Bernard: 

" There are nine or ten ecclesiastics belonging to the Regu- 
lar Canons of the St. Augustine Order, who periodically sacrifice 

their lives to give assistance tn iluir fillowmcn. I'mni year to 



172 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

year they hunt on the barren tcips of the Alps, amidst perpetual 
snows, frightful storms, and heart-rendering desolation, yet they 
are cheerful and happy. They have no pretensions; they make 
no boasts; they write no articles to publish in newspapers to 
show exaggerated and spurious good works. They love noth- 
ing else but God and their fellow creatures — making no distinc- 
tion on account of creed, color, or nation. They expect reward 
from no one but God. Every stick of wood they burn, and every 
mouthful of bread they eat, must be brought up from a distance 
of twelve miles down below in the valley. They plant nothing, 
because there is no heat to rijien anything; then, where could 
they plant? There is nothing but naked rocks, covered most 
of the time by snow. The famous dogs are a cross between the 
Newfoundland and the Pyrencan, and only live six or seven 
years. In the midst of storms, when Alpine blasts tear up rocks 
and shake the mountains; when avalanches rush down with ter- 
rible roaring, carrying away whatever may be in their way, the 
monks set out with the dogs to rescue any perishing traveler 
who may have lost his way. The dogs rush madly down the 
mountain side, plunging into snowdrifts, with a bottle in a 
basket seciu^ed about the neclc, furnishing immediate aid to the 
perishing." 

We had not realized how steep was the ascent 
until we started to return. A funny little horse was 
attached to our carriage, while the great mule, that 
had been its companion on the ascent, was tied to 
the back with another one, to l)e left at the village, 
and we were very glad to have two of their pro- 
verbial obstinacy to act as drag to our conveyance. 
Although midsummer, snow patches were all around 




Swiss Cottac.kks. 



The f\liiiic — niit^'uvi — Lticcrnc — Interlaken. 1 73 

us; our ride down I lie slcci) road was exliilarating, 
l)iit we shuddered at llie ihou^iit of a winter's day 
here. 'iMie views weie i;]"aiid, and my hits of Alpine 
flora, collected along th(.' way, are carefully placed in 
my herharimii. V>\ noon we were quite ready to 
attack the somewhat donhtful repast set heforc us 
at the llalfway Imi, hut which our host e\'idcntly 
thought (|uite sumptuous. We had a good oppor- 
tum'ty to ohserve liie hahits of the villagers in the 
mean little places on our journey. Sometimes the 
road hetw'een the houses would only admit one ve- 
hicle at a time. Cattle and people herd closely to- 
gether, and we note(I the women sitting out on 
henches taking their v^Mnila\' rest in their i~^un(kay 
hest, while the men, congregated in clusters, seemed 
discussing the pigs and cattle. I noticed very few 
rca(Hng, although in one- \illage we saw al)out a 
church some little girls in white, as if something spe- 
cial were on hand, f )\\v appetites for Swiss cheese 
were not whetted hy the sights we saw and the tales 
we were tnjil. alllioni^h llie houses and the people 
were clean. We could hut pity the plodding, aim- 
less sort of life, shut in so much of the year hy nat- 
ural harriers, hut these were certainly cases where 
ignoiance is hliss. .\fl(.'i- all, great Icarm'ng is not 
essenti.al to the soul's saKation; to know, love and 
fear (hkI is the great sum of hnman life. I'erhaps if 



174 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

some of these simple souls were in other surround- 
ings, they might lose that innocence they now pos- 
sess, and so forfeit heaven; and "What shall it profit 
a man to gain the whole world and lose his own 
soul!" With these reflections to temper our sym- 
pathy, we continued our journey through the ever 
beadtiful Swiss scenery, until at last we reached the 
foot of the mountains, clattered through the Mar- 
tigny streets, and drew up to our hotel, tired, hungry, 
and ready for our comfortal^le beds. 

The lovely valley of Chamounix we must omit 
this time, as one of our party was unable for the long 
drive, after the fatiguing journey to St. Bernard; but 
we had en route a very good view of the " King of 
the Alps," Mt. Blanc. 



CHAPTER XI. 

GENEVA— CASTLE OF CU ILLON — RETURN TO GER- 
MANY — NEUENAH R — .STRASBURG — BLACK 
FORES'I'— I'RI'IIUIRC;- MUNICH. 

W'e left next (la\' for Gene\'a. reachiiii^' there in the 
ev'eniiiL;". Mere we noticed the stranj^'c t'onlluence nf 
the Rhone, 1)hie as the lake, w ith the tnrhid Ar\'e, and 
from the quay we could plainly see Mt. Blanc. The 
washerwomen work out on the river bank, rubbing 
and pounding their clothes. Bryant beautifully apos- 
trophizes the river Arve: 

" Born where the tluiiidiT and the l)last 
And morning's earliest iitjjhls are born. 
From steep to steep thy torrent falls. 
Till, mingling with the mighty Rhone, 
It rests beneath Geneva's walls." 

In the Clun-ch of St. T~>ierrc, of 1024, is the canopy 
under which Ca]\'in preached during Ids residence 
here in the troubled times of religious disturbances. 
In the ITall of .Antiquities are many Roman relics 
found in tlie .\rve. Geneva has occupied a very im- 
portant place in the history of Europe; sent forth 
many learned men, while it has alTorded asylum to 
others. Rousseau has here a fnie statue on an island 
named for him. The very atmosphere seems to in- 



176 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

spire poetic thoughts. Shelley, Byron, Gibbon, Vol- 
taire, Lamertine, Dumas, Hugo and Madame de Stael 
have spent time here, and each has paid a tribute to 
the lovely lake and surroundings. 

Neckar was born here, and Sismondi, the histo- 
rian; Sir Humphrey Davy is buried here, as also 
Calvin, who burned here his fellow reformer, Servetus, 
for differing from him on some point. And here 
John Knox lived a while. Geneva has been called 
" The Rome of Protestantism." One never tires of 
the lake view, and the little boats skimming over it 
with their peculiar sails, reminding one of a flight of 
swallows. Near the city, on the borders of the lake, 
is the famed Castle of Chillon, built in 1238, and 
noted as a political prison. Bonnivard, the " Pris- 
oner of Chillon," is the pervading spirit. His cell is 
much visited by tourists, and all seem familiar with 
Byron's lines: 

" Lake Leman lies by Chilloti's walls, 
Chillon, thy prison is a holy place." 

■' My hair is white, but not with years; 
Nor grew it white in a single night 
As men have grown with sudden fear." 

The national monument here is fine, " Helvetia 
and Geneva," in memory of Geneva joining the con- 
federation in 1 8 14. There is a monument to Charles, 




CaSTI.E 01' Cllll,r,()\, vSwiTZKKI.AM), 



Genera — Sfrasbui\s: — Black Forest — Munich. 177 

Duke of Brunswick, who left twenty million francs 
to the city. Jewelry and watches are synonymous 
with Geneva. The water-works system is the great 
center of interest, containing twenty turbines of forty- 
two hundred horse-power, and the drinking water is 
said to 1)6 the finest in Europe. 

Visitors are especially reniinded not to miss a trip 
up the Mt. Saleve for the grand views. We returned 
to the Rhine, having made our Switzerland trip while 
the weather w-as suitable. 

At Remagen, in Germanv, we turned aside for the 
waters of Neuenahr, a pretty and thri\'ing place at the 
foot of a hill, crowned by the ruins of a castle dating 
back to 1226. and having the usual legend attached. 
Up to the windows of our hotel came every morn- 
ing the solemn strains of a hymn played by a band, 
which thus opened, in ])raise to God, their daily con- 
certs. Pleasant walks arc in cx'cry direction; a beau- 
tiful ])ark surrounding the s])rings is kept in ex([uisite 
order, tilled with promenaders of all nationalities en- 
joying the music and surroundings. Walking down 
one morning for my usual glass of water, I met the 
funeral procession of a little child, the cofifin covered 
with flowers, six little girls in white carrying it. and 
as they passed where I stood, they left their small 
burden down on the clean ])ave to rest, while every 
one around stood uncox'cred. It was carried to the 



lyS Memories of a Rcd-Lcttcr Summer. 

little old cluirch on the hill, where I often attended 
Mass. This structure is evidently very old and out- 
grown by the congregation, and the grave stones, 
some almost two hundred years old, crowd up to 
the walls on every side. Here, as in many German 
churches we visited, the singing was congregational, 
and 1 was nuich ediiied by the appearance of one boy 
of about twelve years, w'hose place was near the seat 
I always chose. His head was thrown back, his eyes 
were fixed on the blue beyond the open window, as 
if he really saw that of which he sang, and his voice, 
strong, sweet and inire, tloated out unconsciously. 
Sometimes birds Hew in and out through the open 
windows during services. I noted curious customs 
here during Requiem Masses, old, but significant, 
which I supposed were from the " Mass penny." 

Driving along the banks of the Ahr, as in all Ger- 
man)- the vineyards c>n the steep hillsides give evi- 
dence of nuich painstaking lal^or. They are terraced 
b\' walls of stone, these filled in by earth, and each 
\inc seems to know its place and what it is expected 
to )ieKl. The tlog teams were curious to us. and the 
good creatures toiled along in their traces, helping 
their masters or mistresses most lo}all\-. The Ger- 
-man customs are laudalile in man)- respects; the 
housekeejiing is famous. The government controls 
much that in this countrN- is left to chaneine hands. 



Geneva— -Strasbur'f —lUach Forest — Munich. 179 

The pure footl laws arc strict and enforced. The uni- 
ft)rnied ofiicials give all a military air, and we felt 
somehow protected. The marks of saher cuts on 
many cheeks, of which the wearers seem proud, were 
prohably reminders of dueling or student life. 

At the old city of Strashurg we stopped to see the 
wonderful clock. 'iMu)u,L;h not directly on the Rhine, 
the city has, from Koman days, l:)een of strategetical 
importance. 'JMie church, dedicated to the Holy Vir- 
gin, and containing the clock, was founded in the 
year 600, being of course changed and added to with 
time. As with all cathedrals, the side chapels are 
beautiful, and all possible has been done to make it 
worthy of the Sacred Presence. The original clock 
dates back to 1352. In 1574 it was repaired, two 
hundred years afterwards again repaired, and also one 
hundred years later. It stands inside the clun-ch, and 
a gratuity is given the custodian for exhibiting it. At 
noon is the best time for observation, for then the 
twelve apostles come out and move about the figure 
of our Savior, a cock Haps its wings and crows, a skel- 
eton strikes the hours, while the (juarters are repre- 
sented by the figures of childhood, youth, manhood 
and (lid age. The <|uarters are struck by an angel 
with a bell in his hand, while a figure changes the 
hour glass every hour. 

Beautiful old iMcibuig. on the edge of the Black 



i8o Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

Forest, claimed our attention for some time. Here 
an immense package of precious mail reached us from 
London, where it had accumulated. This old town, 
after many vicissitudes, has returned to its original 
owner, the House of Baden. While we were here, 
the birthday of the present Duke was being cele- 
brated with great rejoicings, and the houses were 
gaily decorated with flags. During our attendance 
on the special religious services, we had an oppor- 
tunity of seeing many distinguished people, judging 
from their decorations and military attendants. The 
music was grand, the organ accompanied by brass 
and string band, and at the Elevation the bells tolled 
and a cannon was fired. At the Te Deum the whole 
congregation joined, and the volume of sound almost 
shook the staunch old building. As we .left the 
church, we paused to note the still waiting crowd 
outside, when presently all knelt, and through the 
lane formed by the reverent people the venerable 
Archbishop passed to his residence, dispensing bene- 
dictions. 

The Muenster, from the twelfth century, is of red 
sandstone. The porticoes are very fine, containing 
rare works of scuplture, the tower over three hundred 
and eighty feet high, the pulpit over three hundred 
years old, cut from a single block of stone. The 
name of the Zahringer family, who were lords of the 



Geneva — Sfrasbiirg — Black forest — Munich. i8i 

manor for several hundred years, is evident every- 
where. 

A statue on the public square is to the Franciscan 
monk, Berthold Schwarz, who invented gunpowder 
in 1330. Concerts in the parks by military bands, 
and at night at the great hall, are very fine; and many 
rides through the Black Forest we enjoyed, especially 
one in the evening, when the great full moon rose 
over its gloomy grandeur, suddenly flooding the 
roads with light. 

Freiburg contains a University and Conservatory 
of Music. One day, while strolling about, we noticed 
a lady with striking appearance pass us, who abruptly 
turned and approached us, saying: " I must speak to 
you; I know you are American ladies." She stood 
for some time talking, and told us that her home was 
in Boston, but she was studying in Freiburg, and, 
pleasant as the summers were here, she more enjoyed 
the winters, with skating and other winter sports, and 
the society of cultivated people, who attended the 
various places of study. 

The Rath-House, with its curious outside fres- 
coes, the old Church of St. Martin's and part of the 
cloisters, the university, the Martinsthor part of the 
old fortifications, with its picture on the outer wall 
of St. Martin sharing his cloak with a beggar, the 
narrow streets, with streams of fine water along the 



1 82 Memories of a Red- Letter Summer. 

sides, the pretty parks and promenades — past these 
and many curious objects we drive on our way out to 
Lorettosburgh, with its chapels erected in honor of 
the victories gained in 1644 by General Mercy over 
Turenne. A cannon ball is shown in the wall as 
having just missed Louis XIV. at the siege of Frei- 
bourg. The ruins of the Castle of the old family of 
Zahringer are full of interest. But, oh, the Black 
Forest! This lovely country would seem to promise 
health and happiness to those especially who are 
lovers of nature, and make one sigh for a " lodge in 
the vast wilderness." My memory was stored with 
legends of the Black Forest, and here they were all 
revived. Through its grand, dark, impressive silences 
we drove, and tramped, and gathered the fragrant 
branches, and now, as I write, a pillow made of them 
is near me, exhaling its rich piny perfume. 

" In the German forest there kirks no ill, 
But fragrant balsam, all pain to kill; 
C fresh, green branches, O golden light, 
O airy freedom on yonder height." 

Away up through the dim aisles of the enchanted 
wood we traveled to the shrine of St. Ottilia; but near 
here, as in so many other charming places, was the 
ever-intruding restaurant, which, while being some- 
times a comforting presence, is often repellant to the 



Geneva — Strasburg — Black Forest — Munich. 1 83 

eye, as recalling one too much to creature comforts. 
Butler's Liz>cs of the Sai)its tells us St. Ottilia was born 
in Strasburg of illustrious family, and baptized by 
St. Erhard. Her father erected a great nunnery in 
Alsace, in which Ottilia conducted one hundred and 
thirty nuns in the paths of Christian perfection, and 
died in '/y2. 

At the Stadt Garten we named the musicians of 
the company for those of the " First Violin," as we 
had wondered, in the Cologne Cathedral, which place 
had been occupied l)y Kugcn Courvoiser and his 
companion. /\ society, the Schwarzwald Verein, 
wliic-h h.is here over a thousand members, might be 
reconunended to our own people, as it is for the pres- 
ervation and making of new walks and paths, and 
opening fine points of view. Just here I will men- 
lion, in (icrnian)' the jjrolcction of the forest is by 
law, and when one tree is cut down, another is 
planled. X'owhere has the ini])ortance of forestry 
received more attention th.an in (.ermany. The ne- 
cessities for firewood and railroad building required 
repair and rec-onsirnetion of the snppK . Science and 
system were resorted to; soils were studied as to their 
adaptation lo \\h;il trees; schools of foresti'v were 
establis]ie<l and eonneiMed with the I'niversitv of 
Munich, and now (icrniany is deriving great econom- 
ical ;id\antages from the sx'stem she has introduced. 



184 Memories of a Red-Letter Sttmmer. 

and which, it is to be hoped, other nations will follow. 
In our own country scientists attribute floods and 
many other disasters to the destruction of our once 
magnificent forests. 

There was once a Carthusian Monastery here, also 
Augustinian, now a theater. Away up on the moun- 
tains we visited a chapel of St. Peter, now a seminary, 
once a Benedictine Monastery. The views from here 
are also very fine. The Rath-House, or Court of 
Justice, is very old and very finely decorated. In 
1498 the Imperial Diet sat here under Maximilian 
First. The Muenster claims the distinction of being 
the only large Gothic church in Germany completed 
in the Middle Ages. Only a long description could 
do it justice. In the vicinity of Freiburg is a point 
where Rudolph von Hapsburg is said to have held 
his court; hence the name Kaiserstuhl, or Emperor's 
chair. St. Bernard preached here a crusade, and 
Freiburg suffered during the Thirty Years' War. It 
was ruled in turns by Swedes, French, Austrians, 
and Bavarians, and also suffered during the so-called 
Reformation. It was truly called the '' Pearl of 
Briesgau." 

During our trip to Munich all was excitement 
on account of a royal marriage between Elizabeth of 
Bavaria and Albert of Belgium, and as many of the 
party were at our hotel, we saw quite a lot of nobles 



Geneva — Sfrasbitrg — Black Forest — Munich. 185 

and attendants. One great fellow — I shall call him 
a grenadier at hazard — was at least seven feet in 
height, and above that towered a shako. He was 
easily the " observed of all observers." 

IMunich has too many attractions for a short visit, 
such as time required us to make. The palaces, libra- 
ries, galleries of art, botanical gardens. Hall of Fame, 
Crystal Palace, must all be omitted this time; but 
we are consoled for this by the reflection that we 
are en route to Oberammergau and the Passion Play. 
We remarked, though, on the Karolinenplatz, a fine 
metuorial to the brave Bavarians who fell in the war 
with Russia. 



CHAPTER XII. 

OBERAMMERGAU AND THE PASSION PLAY — 
INNSBRUCK. 

Fortunate indeed were we in being privileged to 
attend the Passion Play. By the time we reached 
Munich it was almost at the last representation, and 
tourists had very discouraging tales of the difficulty 
of obtaining accommodation; but Cook, the vete- 
ran friend of travelers, through telegrams, obtained 
shelter and seats for us. We were willing to make 
any sacrifice for this purpose, for who could foretell 
what another ten years might bring forth? — and this 
event of a lifetime must be looked to. Approaching 
the village of Oberammergau, the first object to at- 
tract our attention was the " Kofel," a needle-like 
rock, five hundred feet high, pointing to the sky, and 
surmounted by a cross forty feet in height. Fit em- 
blem and preparation was it for what we were to see. 
We had lodgings at the Villa of the Baroness von 
Hillern, a charming lady, who, having witnessed the 
Passion Play in 1880, became so enamored of the 
place that she severed her connection with the outer 
world and identified herself with the blessed village, 
and here she will remain till her days are ended. 
Happy lady! could I entertain envy on such a sub- 



Oberaiiiincrgaii and tlic Passion Play. 187 

ject. }'Our lot woulil ])e the one. The houses of the 
village are clean and picturesque, decorated outside 
with pictures of sacred subjects, and surrounded by 
plats of bright tlowei-s. Here, three thousand feet 
al)ove the sea, the two villages of Ober and Unter 
.\mmergau stand on the banks of the Ammer. Foot 
bridges span the stream, and the village inspires one 
with a feeling of comfort, rest and contentment. In 
the center of the village stands a church built on the 
site of an ancient one, and consecrated in 1749. The 
pla\' of 1890 brought some English peo]:)le, who pre- 
sented here a fine organ. New windows were put in; 
the altar is a work of art, and the old offerings have 
been discarded for the new. until one lady said it 
seemed like the Lord's l)est room, and they should 
be attired in their ver}^ best, instead of dropping in 
at any time to rest their weary souls. Around the 
church lie the dead. This custom is so beautiful and 
fitting, to ha\'e our dear dead so near to us; they are 
not forgotten; they seem still with us. When a dear 
one is removed by death, how do our hearts reach 
after them! Oh, if we could but do something for 
them to assure them of our love! — now that the 
pulseless hand nia\- no longer clasp our own, the 
loved voice never again respond, the cold lii)s never 
again return our kiss of affection' Oh, for onh- one 
more chance to show them how dear thc\- are to us! 



i88 Memories of a Rcd-Lcttcr Summer. 

r>ul, yes, wc may. l''\cr tlic plaint cdinos from the 
_i;ra\'C. " lla\c pity on mo; lia\c I'itx' on me, at least 
you, my friends, for the hand of the l.ord is heavy 
upon me!" And so we kneel beside their lowly bed 
and piay, " Dear Kord, in thine inluiite mercy, deliver 
the soul of (his, m\' ln\ed one, and accept this offer- 
ing to th\- justice"; and then the beautiful petition 
piescribed b\- the Church, the "He Proftmdis." 

" Wc kiu'cl in lliini;_;:lu wliorr tho witlu-ii'il grasses 

l\ustliiiL; away ci'it a diicc l>riglit head, 
SuinuuT dies ami liie dyiiij? Itoweis 

Sitili: IxcnieinluT >(iur Irved and deail. 
Buried friends, ean we e'er forget you, 

Von wlio felt for our weal or woe? 
Ciotl he with yon, our silent sleepers, 

Lying muKr the turf so low. 
Useless, \ain is our deep hewailiug — 

Vain aiH" ninrninr .and soh and fear; 
What, oh, what ean our grief avail yon. 

Lifeless dust that was onee so dear! 
Hark! a sigh Ironi eaeh lowlv bed' 

Oh! pray, pray for the dead!" 

v^ureh this is one o{ the most comforting teachin£j;s 
of the C'liiu'ch, we may help our dear tleparted by 
prayers! • 

Tennyson, in the " Passing of King Arthin%" 
makes him sav: 

" If thou shouhlst never sec my faee again. 
Pray for my soul! M'ue things are wrought by prayer 



Ohcrdiiniwri^dii and llic rassioii Play. i .S9 

Tliaii tliis world drciiiis of. WluTrfoir. let tliy vuice 

Risr Iil<(' ;i I'l luntaui for iiic, iii^lil and day- 

l'"«ir w dial aia uicn lictin- lliaii ^ln-cp or t,^<iats, 

'riiat iiotiii'-li a Mind lilc williiii llic hiain, 

If, kiidwiiii; (Mid, lliiN lil'l IKK hands (d prayer 

Hdtli fur lluiiiMd\ i-s and llinsc udio call llirin Iriciid? 

Vnv so, 'lie \\lii>K- r.iund cartli is rvcry way 

Hound liy I'ojd iliains ahoiil ihc l\cl of Cod!" 

C.radiialK this (loc-trinc apin'.'irs to l)0 ap])ealing to 
those scpaialrd trom us in faith. An cmincMit l*rot- 
I'staiit waiter sa\s: " I'l^aNXT lor the dead is one ol the 
most anident and authenticated ])raetiees of relio-ion. 
It (inieki'us the hehtd in the iuinioi'laht \' ol the souh 
(h"a\\s the \-eil of darkness frou) the o-j-ax-e, and joins 
this woiid witli the next. I lad it been retaine<l, most 
hkel\ w t' sh()uld lud ha\e e\] >ei"ienee(I so nmeli skep- 
licism and unhehef amon_o- us." 

yXnd _\'et another writes: 

I SCO (lie fac'S of niv dtad, al 11 loinlay, 

I'roin llir winic (Imids duwn l(wd<inK on! of lica\'i'n. 

I licar tiu'ir rrics iijion thr winds of .\nlnnin, 

T hear (lieir siplis vvilinn tin- pnri>lc iwilij-dil, 

'I'h'.'ir moans coU'c Id nu- lliiDmdi 'lie snlihini; nij^lil rain, 

Plcadiiip ' I'ray Cod foi- us who stay in prison,' 

Cryinp, 'Arise, ihon dicaiiifst and wc suffer,' 

S'pliinp, '() Ciod, wc drink- tlu' awful darkness 

i'roni eve to e\H'. and all the livnii^ know not.'" 

'Idu' composer of the Passion music. " I^c(ller," is 
here rememheri'(I, .-uid theri' is also a monument to 



I go Mcifuvics of a Red-Letter Summer. 

the Reverend 1^'ather 1 )aisenl)erger, reviser and cor- 
rcct(jr of the Passion Play, and e])itaph, " His works 
(!o lollovv him." The bust is finely done, the work 
of one of the Lang family, so prominent in the annals 
of Oberammerg-an. now of Munich, and who pre- 
sented this work to his native village. A hermitage, 
Iniilt of log's and bark, near the village, is the vener- 
ated spot to which the holv priest used to come for 
hours of solitary devotion. Also in the neighbor- 
hood is a crucifixion group, presented by the sad 
King Ludwig Second. Mass is always read here on 
the anniversary of his death. The inscription reads: 
From King Ludwig Second, in memory of the Pas- 
sion Play, to the art loving' Oberammergauers, true 
to the customs of their forefathers." Then the gospel 
words, "Woman, behold thy Son; Son, behold thy 
mother." 

The ])eople here date their ancestry to the 
Romans. Christianity was introduced at the close 
of the ninth centtu'y. Ethiko the Guelph came, 
and in 1330 a Benedictine Monastery \\'as foimcled. 
"Convents ha\'e," says a fine writer, "been, through 
the centuries, the steadfast bearers of intellectual 
progress. When intercourse was difficult with the 
outer world, their schools and farmsteads were closely 
associated with the development of the district." 
Wood carving seems to have taken root here, and to 



ObcraiiiiiicrgUH and ihc Passion Play. 191 

the present day it is a great industry in Oberammer- 
gau, and the work of the people is shipped far and 
near. An example is cited of the culture acquired 
l)y attendance at the monastery, of Ulrich Petz, a 
simple miller, in 1550, who, when wearied from labor, 
took down from his shelf the classics, whose language 
he had accjuired in spare hours. This humble Cath- 
olic wrote on the corner of his Bible: " Believe that 
the highest good and wisdom is in Christianity. All 
else is folly, mere dust!'-' Such is an example of the 
blood of the village people, who still remain faithful 
to their traditions and teachings. In 1551, when 
Philip, King of Spain, came through Ettal. near b\', 
he and his court walked bareheaded, candles in hand, 
in the Corpus Christi procession. The village suf- 
fered from depredations by the Swedes, and finally 
the dreaded jjlague broke out in 1633. ^'^^ far back 
as the fourth century sacred i)lays had been held 
on certain occasions as offerings to God. So these 
])ious people determined to vow this representation 
as penitential offering in supplication for the cessa- 
tion of the |)laguc. Tt ceased, and has never re- 
turned. In 1770 a roval edict prohil)ilcd the farther 
production of the play. The pcoj)lc protested, ap- 
pealed and j)etitioned, but tlic c(lict stood, i-'inallv 
the elector agreed to permit it, and in 1780 it was 
resumed. P>ut opposition again brctkc out, and again 



192 Memories of a Red-Letter Sttmmer. 

appeals were made. Finally lyudwig First ascended 
the throne, and the play found an earnest advocate 
in Goethe, whom Fiidwig Second highly respected. 
Never was king more beloved, so closely did he live 
to his people; and when, in 1886, his death followed 
after that of the beloved Pastor Daisenberger, in 
1883, the community was indeed desolate. We vis- 
ited the Palace at Linderhof, where the King resided, 
and wondered not that in this paradise he chose re- 
treat, and was so loved by his loyal Bavarians. The 
historian of the Passion Play speaks of its heroes, and 
asks the person who comes here to visit it and goes 
away to criticise, to just sit down and try to compose 
the music and text; .speaks of the heart's blood of 
poverty, of patient merit, the sacrifice of art natures, 
and beautifully says: "To these poor art souls, 
drooping under the crushing influence of the com- 
monplace, the Savior had also said, ' Come unto me, 
all ye that labor and are heavily burdened'; and 
they came, and brought him the first fruits of their 
skill, and he received them and took them into his 
service. Therefore the right to be an Ammergauer 
and take part in the sacred work must be bought with 
blood and tears; and woe to him who with careless 
jest or the unclean spirit of speculation would par- 
ticipate in the sacred play! The structure, which the 
spirit of their ancestors has so firmlv founded, must 




iri 

..• o 
5 « 



OS 



rt 






Obcraiiniicrs^aii and the Passion Play. 193 

fall and crush him." She especially mentions in this 
connection Father Weiss, the scholar Rochess Ded- 
ler, and the venerable Father Daisenberger. who 
renounced ecclesiastical honors to remain in his be- 
loved home and with his people, to perfect the Pas- 
sion Play. So, when the year arrives for its produc- 
tion, the members of the committee attend Mass daily 
to invoke tlivinc blessing and direction on their work. 
The parties are chosen for the holiness and purity 
of their lives; and each villager's ambition is to be 
worthy to be a representative of some part. 

We noted, as we entered the village, so many men 
with long hair, and learned that they were among 
those who took characters. Even little children be- 
come imbued with the desire to take part. Some of 
the little tots bore their pose in the tableaux with 
almost incredible excellence A few names are insep- 
arably connected with the play; among them Deimer, 
whose kinswoman has given to the world such a per- 
fect history of the village. peoi)]e and ])lay. 

The evening ])revious to the ])erformance wc 
walked down to the village through the crowded 
streets, and visited the home of Peter Rendl, an ideal 
John, the beloved disciple. ITis face was almost ef- 
feminate, smooth and gentle, and his hair, parted in 
the middle, hung over his shoulders. ITe was en- 
gaged in his little shop among his carvings, some of 
(9) 



194 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

which we purchased ns souvenirs, and then passed to 
the home of ihe C'hi-islus, Anton l^ang. His face 
was much as we see so often in sacred ]:»ictures, his 
eyes 1)lne and imiocent, and a soft l)ro\vn l)eai"d and 
Ions;' wavy liair made him also an ideal. He and 
John spoke I^i.^'lish well. We wished to visit the 
homes of the princi])al actors, hut the crowds were 
too t^'reat. I'uri^'ouK-isler I ,an_<;- trains the actors. 
KudwiL;' I,ani;' arranges the tahleaux, Ivlward Lang 
trains the younj^- nnisicians, jacoh Kutz, who is a 
hiacksmith, has a most wonderful voice, and led the 
choir. Andreas Lang, a rahhi of this year, was the 
Thomas ten years ago. ruid some time since carved 
the st.atue of hjnperor lM-edeiick. Sehastian Ivang 
makes a grand C\'iiaphas. The name of I .ang is closely 
ide'ntiried with the x'illage. and some, who have gone 
awav and pros])ered. liave shown nmch charity to 
their less fortunate neighhors in sustaining wood 
car\'ing when the demand was small, paying ready 
cash. The family was muuerous. and nt)w' the old- 
est carver of crucilixes is " 'IVm'csc Lang, nee Lruig, 
Widow Lang, and remarried Lang, who is the mother 
of the 'rahhi,' .\ndreas Lang." She is the present 
head of the fine family, and her hrother is Burgo- 
nieister Lang. Johann Zwink is the jierfect Judas; 
and the Pilate of Bauer is one of the grandest figures 
of the play. We were told that the "Mary" of this 




'I' y. 
"J W 



Obcramincrgmi and the Passion Play. 195 

year postponed her marriagfe to take her part. Each 
seems so fully identified with his or her part that it 
seems impossible to discriminate. Even the little 
children are wonderful. Judas, whose part was one 
of contradictions, excelled any stage presence I have 
ever beheld. The struggles of his better nature with 
the vices of avarice and cupidity, were tragic indeed. 
His soliloquy, ending in despair and suicide, was 
thrilling. \\& sat, from 8 to 12 and from i to 5, on 
hard wooden benches, rapt, absorbed, tears stream- 
ing, and at the parting at Bethany, the meeting of 
]\Iary and her beloved Son, staggering under the 
weight of the Cross, the Last Supper, and the scenes 
of the Crucifixion. I could scarcely repress my sobs; 
yet so cjuiet was the audience all seemed indeed on 
Calvary. When all was over and we had come to 
ourselves, we had time to realize it. Early in the 
morning we had been aroused by the signal gun. the 
echoes reverberating through the valley. Hastily 
dressing, we proceeded to church, crowded for sev- 
eral Masses, the participants in the play fortifying 
themselves by prayer for their sacred parts. Break- 
fast is quickly discussed, and we drive down to the 
theater through the hurrying crowds, which are well 
handled and seated. The spectators are now under 
roof, but the stage still stands in o|)cn air, making .'dl 
more real by the backgrotmd of the pinc-co\ercd 



196 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

mountains. We seat ourselves among the expectant 
crowds, and soon we hear the orchestra begin, and 
from either side of the stage file in the chorus, led 
by a magnificent figure in snowy white. His dig- 
nified person and snowy hair and beard declare him 
the former Christus, Mayer. After a short prologue, 
the chorus falls back, and the curtain rises on the first 
tableau, the Expulsion of Adam and Eve from Par- 
adise. They are clothed in skins, and the angel with 
flaming sword threatens- them, while Eve looks long- 
ingly behind her, as if she said indeed: "Must I leave 
thee, Paradise?" 

PROLOGUE. 

" Greetings to all who have come from far and near to wit- 
ness the sufferings and death of Christ. All here are united in 
love in memory of the One who has for us suffered the bitterest 
death, and our tenderest thoughts and love turn to Him. The 
hour for the fulfillment ol our holy vow has come. Join your 
prayers with us, we beseech you." 

Another tableau is the Adoration of the Cross: 
and now we hear the shouts in the distance, and on 
the stage proceed a multitude waving palm branches 
and shouting hosannas. Presently some begin to cast 
down their garments, and John appears, leading an 
ass, on which the Christus rides. As he reaches the 
door of the temple he dismounts and enters, and the 
scene is verv realistic, of the monev changers and 



Oberaiiimergau and the Passion Play. 197 

venders of different wares; the indignation of the 
Christus as he beholds the desecration, and the 
words, "My house shall be called the house of 
prayer," etc., and overturns the tables, not noisily or 
rudely, but sadly, and then from the cages the liber- 
ated doves take flight beyond the boundaries. Each 
tableau typifies something in the life of Christ, as that 
of young Tobias leaving his family, and Isaac carry- 
ing the fagots on his shoulders to the mount, where 
his father, Abraham, was commanded to offer him in 
sacrifice, typifies our Lord carrying his cross to Cal- 
vary. The scenes of the parting at Bethany between 
Jesus and his blessed Mother and disciples, and the 
Last Supper and washing of feet were most touching. 
John assists the Christus in girding himself w^ith a 
towel, and so he goes from one to another, each re- 
ceiving him with deprecating look and act. and fol- 
lowing him with adoring" gaze. The breaking of 
bread and giving it to his disciples, with his own 
hands, in the institution of the Holy Eucharist, is so 
perfectly described by a writer, that I can not refrain 
from giving it in full as a lesson to those who can not 
accept this doctrine. ".\s the dying man distributes 
his property among his heirs, so He. too. His. But 
He has nothing to bestow but Himself. As the cloud 
dissolves itself in the millions of rain (Iroj)s and waters 
the parched ground, so He multiplies llimsclf a mil- 



198 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

lion-fold, whereby, in the course of years. He gives 
comfort to millions of men by means of Holy Com- 
munion. His Body and Blood are His last will. 
He gives them to numberless persons, to numberless 
heirs, and yet He remains one and undivided under 
each particle of both species. For as an element 
remains one large unity, even if it dissolves itself into 
ever so many atoms, as water remains always water, 
whether it be in single drops or in the ocean; fire 
always fire, whether in sparks or conflagration; so 
Christ always remains Christ, in each drop in the cup, 
or in each particle of the species of bread. He is 
one, whole and entire, in His divinity and humanity. 
The Last Supper had been typified by the tableau of 
the manna in the wilderness and the bringing of the 
grapes from Canaan by the spies. And now Adam 
at work and the assassination of Amasa by Joab pre- 
pared us for the agony in the garden and the traitor- 
ous kiss of Judas. So Christ is apprehended, and we 
hear the denial of Peter, at which the cock crows. 
The mockery of the Jews, the dragging of the bound 
and patient Victim from Herod to the house of Pilate, 
who appears a grand and majestic figure, wishing to 
be right, warned by a message from his wife to have 
nothing to do with this just man; returning Him to 
Herod as not under his jurisdiction, returned again, 
so patient, so meek and humble, when Pilate, fearing 



Obcraiiuncrgau ami flic Passion Piay. 199 

to offend Herod, yields to the demands of the popu- 
lace, breaks his staff, washes his hands, releases the 
horrid looking Barabbas, and deli\'ers the Christus 
to the mob. This is typified by the ta1:)leaii of the 
1)lind and lionnd Samson, Isaac, and the setting up 
of the brazen serpent. Now from one side of tlie 
stage we see the rabble approaching, and presently 
the Christus, staggering and falling under the heavy 
weight of the Cross, goaded on by the cruel Jews. 
Fearing lest their victim should expire, they summon 
Simon of Cyrene to help Him with the cross; Veronica 
approaches and oft'ers Him her handkerchief to wipe 
His disfigured face; the women of Jerusalem, weeping 
over Him, are comforted and bidden "Weep not for 
me, l)ut for yourselves and your children." And 
then — oh, sad scene! — His Blessed Mother and St. 
John meet Him. " It is He; it is my son; it is my 
Jesus. Ah, \\here is sorrow like unto my sorrow!" 
John says: "Mother, wiff thou not go back to Beth- 
any? Thou canst not look upon this sight." But 
Mary replies: "How can a mother leave her child 
in his last and bitterest need? T will suffer with 
Him; scorn and disgrace 1 will l)ear with Him, and 
die witli Mini. Let us ffjllow Iliiu." And so the sad 
procession moves on. 

At tlic scene of the Crucifixion the curtain rises 
on the two thiex'cs bound by ropes on their respecti\'e 



200 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

crosses. We have heard the sound of the hammer 
behind the scenes as the body of the Christus was 
nailed, and now we see the cross slowly raised and 
dropped into the hole prepared for it. So realistic 
is this that a shudder seizes one. The appearance 
of the nails on the hands and feet is perfect. The 
Christus says, "I thirst," and vinegar and gall are 
handed to Him, while the soldiers beneath Him are 
casting lots for His garments. The dying eyes turn 
from His mother to His beloved disciple, and we hear: 
"Son, behold thy Mother. Mother, behold thy Son." 
Presently the cry, "My God, my God, why hast thou 
forsaken me!" then a loud cry, and the dying head 
falls. Presently the soldiers come to break the bones 
of the victims, and with stufifed clubs the thieves are 
disposed of, but they find the Christus already dead. 
Thus was fulfilled the prophecy that not a bone of 
His body should be broken. The centurion pierces 
His side, from which a red fluid flows and bears tes- 
timony: "Truly this man was the Son of God." 
Now the bodies of the two thieves are taken down, 
but the scene of the removal of the Christus was 
most impressive, and followed the picture of Rubens' 
" Descent from the Cross." The nails were wrenched, 
apparently, from the hands and feet, a long linen 
passed under the arms, and the body lowered into 
the arms of Mary and John. When it is removed 



Obcramincrgau and the Passion Play. 201 

to the toml), Mary follows, supported by John, say- 
ing: " This is the last service I can render to my 
Jesus." Later, the tableau of the Resurrection and 
the afTrig-hted soldiers, and presently the Ascension, 
and as the last of the chorus leaves the stage, we sit 
a moment as awakening from a dream. So the great 
])lay is over, and reluctantly we turn to leave the 
scene. How wonderful! Here in the Bavarian 
Highlands, far from the outer world, is a people in 
their daily lives so simple, innocent, pure and un- 
worldly, yet no where could we see such perfect delin- 
eation of character, such dramatic force, such losing 
of self and identification with the character re])re- 
sented. Surely this alone is the proof of the accept- 
ance by God of what, under other circumstances, we 
would regard as blasphemy. In no other place could 
this l)e produced as here, where it is the fulfillment 
of a solenni vow. The gentle historian of Oberam- 
mergau repudiates the idea that has been ad\-anccd, 
that the outer world l)rings here culture and refine- 
ment; on the contrarv. there is a strain of Infiv 
blood in this people, mingled with Christian luunil- 
ity. Look at the faces, study the characters. The 
historian says the Ammergauers, exclusive of I'.ttal. 
are an ancient, civilized and cultured people, their 
characters formed of the finest and noblest " mind 
atoms." "When the hjnpei-or, in 900, came o\er 



202 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

the mountains, carrying the holy image, and set up 
the foundation of the monastery, the era dawned of 
enlightenment, which has matured from implicit faith 
the finest fruits in art and poesy. Here, as ever, the 
Catholic missionaries guided these barbaric people to 
civilization, and brought forth the tree of the cross 
of the Passion Play, from whose branches, reaching 
far over the limits of narrowness, the breezes of life- 
giving faith are wafted into the corrupted and blase 
world." I could go on borrowing from this charm- 
mg writer the story of a loved mountain home, but 
space forbids. The fascination embraces one of this 
lovely spot, a spirit of freedom and exaltation pos- 
sesses us, a lingering to say farewell. To those who 
come here with condescending ideas, I will say, you 
will go away abashed; only the most confirmed 
egotists can entertain such thoughts. 

The mechanism employed in the construction of 
the crucifixion was explained to me by the Baroness, 
for the illusion was so perfect, even under the strong 
glass that I used, I could not have believed the 
Christus was a living man. but that I saw him turn 
his head and heard him speak. A corselet with steel 
loop on the back is fastened to a corresponding hook 
on the cross, thus sustaining the weight of the body, 
while silken bands support the outstretched hands 
and the apparently piercing nails. And so again we 



Obcraiiuncrgaii and the Passioji Play. 203 

l)id adieu, and leave this pretty spot, with its whole- 
some people in their picturesque Tyrol costumes, and 
carry with us memories which time can never efface. 
Now Innsbruck receives us, the capital of the 
Tyrol, noted for its salubrious climate and its art 
treasures. The ri\'er Inn flows l)y on its way to the 
Danube. The history of the town, as of all this 
country, is full of interest, embracing the early 
Roman possession, and now Austrian. The Fran- 
ciscan Church was founded by Ferdinand First, in 
honor of his grandfather, Maximilian First. The 
magnificent works of art contained in it l)rought 
skilled workmen here, and the King was indeed a 
father to his people. Through Spanish, French and 
Austrian wars Innsbruck has passed, making her a 
great history. As a patriot, the name of Andreas 
Hofer stands i)rominent, and his statue is magnifi- 
cent, on the beautiful wooded hill. Berg Isel. Dur- 
ing the struggle, while among the deep gorges, he 
sent his orders to his chiefs, signed, ".\ndreas Hofer, 
wherever I am," ami the replies were sent to "An- 
dreas Hofer, \vhere\'cr he is." The mountaineers 
repelled the invaders by hurling upon them rocks. 
trees and earth, and, as ever, the inspiration of love 
of libcrt\- made tlu-ni \'ictorious. lie bade his peo- 
ple, "Do not shout, hut i)ray." when in the exuber- 
ance of their jo\- thcx made glad ;Mid i)rotTcred him 



204 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

homage, and added, " The Savior of our country is 
God himself." 

Later the French were victorious here, and Ilofer 
was seized and shot. Yet later Austria gained pos- 
session, and now holds the town. The National 
Museum contains rare works; the public buildings 
are very fine, including a university; the Schloss, or 
Castle, is much visited by tourists, as the home to 
which Ferdinand First took his wife. Philippine 
Welser, the daughter of a merchant. 

About the tomb of Maximilian First, in the Fran- 
ciscan Church, stand twenty-eight colossal bronze 
statues, once torch-bearers, each a work of art, rep- 
resenting knights and kings from Arthur. 

" The knight's bones are dust, his sword is rust, 
His soul is with the Saints, we trust." 

The tomb itself occupies great space in the center of 
the church. Christine of vSweden was here baptized 
a Catholic, 

There is a pleasing legend connected with the 
life of Maximilian First, who for his great daring 
and bravery was called the " Last of the Knights." 
Yonge's History relates that " he was a most fearless 
chamois hunter, and liad been in many terrible dan- 
gers from winds and avalanches in the Tyrolean 
mountains. Once he slipped down a precipice, 




Statuk oi" KiiNC. y\KTiui<. 

One of tlif twciity-fiffht l)ron/(.- stalucs siirromidiiif; Ihc toiiil) i>l" llic l-juix-ior 
Mnxiinilian I. in the Ilof Kirclii- at Innsbnick. 



Oberamniergan mid the Passion Play. 205 

called the Martinswand, and was caught by a small 
ledge of rock with a cleft behind it, whence there was 
no way up or down. The whole population came 
out and saw him, but could do nothing to help him, 
or keep him from being starved. He threw down a 
stone with a paper fastened to it, begging that Mass 
might be celebrated below, and a shot fired to let him 
know the moment of the Consecration. At night, 
however, he suddenly appeared among his friends, 
saying that a shepherd boy had come and led him 
through a passage in the cleft through the mountain, 
and l)rought him back in safety. This shepherd was 
never seen again, and was l^elieved by the Tyrolese to 
have been an angel. A little church commemorates 
the event." 



CHAPTER XIII. 

ITALY - VERONA — VENICE — ST. MARK'S — PADUA 

— ST. ANTHONY'S SHRINE — FLORENCE — 

MICHAEL ANGELO— THE MISERI- 

CORDIANS — GALILEO 

— DANTE. 

Now we enter Italy, and these lines occur to me: 

" x\ni I in Italy? Is this the Mincius? 
Are those the distant turrets of Verona? 
And shall I sup where Juliet, at the masque 
Saw her loved Montague and now sleeps by him? 
Such questions hourly do I ask myself. 
And not a stone in a crossway, inscribed 
' To Mantua,' ' To Ferrara,' but excites 
Surprise and doubt and self congratulation." 

Verona is built on both sides of tht Adige River, 
which sometimes overflows, producing great havoc. 
The amphitheater here is in excellent preservation, 
partly due to the efforts of Napoleon to partially re- 
store it in 1805. The principal attraction to many is 
the reputed tomb of Juliet, in the garden of a sup- 
pressed monastery. We also saw what was repre- 
sented as the veritable balcony to which the lover 
Romeo climbed, but it was in disagreeable surround- 
ings. A tablet on the wall testifies, " Here the Capu- 
lets dwelt." In traveling through such scenes as 



Italy — Michael Angela — Galileo — Dante. 207 

these, viewed through a veil of romance, it gives a 
shock to the emotions to hear such iconoclasts as 
"Mark Twain" scoff with irreverent humor at the 
traditions and pleasing legends attached. For in- 
stance, he calls Juliet's tomb a "horse trough." Dis- 
regard traditions, and we should all be like Mr. Grad- 
grind. in Dickens' Hard Times, mere sticklers for 
facts, stem facts. The tomb of the vScaligeri, the 
old Roman theater, and walls and gateways are most 
interesting. The churches demand much time; that 
of St. Zeno is said to be the oldest of Northern Italy, 
and contains his tomb. The Campanile, ancient 
1)ronze doors, and, near by, the tomb of Pepin. The 
Cathedral porch contains reliefs of Charlemagne's 
Paladins, Roland and Oliver, and the tomb of St. 
Agatha. The Roman antiquities of Verona are par- 
ticularly interesting, and, as in all Italian cities, the 
works of art are too numerous for even passing men- 
tion. Where some excavations had been made an 
exquisite mosaic pavement has 1)een uncovered. The 
Medici Palace is now a workshop. There is a statue 
of Dante, and the house he occupied when exiled 
here. 

Three lunn-s by rail l)ring us to Venice, where we 
were taken into a gondola and transferred to a hotel 
on the Grand Canal. All seemed so strange; no 
sound of wheel or horse, only the lazy lapping of tlie 



2o8 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

water and the cry of the gondoher as he approached 
a corner, to warn another boatman commg in an 
opposite direction. So skillful are these men that, 
while swiftly propelling us, they sometimes seem cer- 
tain to strike a wall or another boat, but a movement 
of the oar sends us safely past, not even grazing it. 
A little rest and lunch, and our impatience takes us 
out to the wonderful St. Mark's. At first we can only 
stand and wonder. Here, built upon piles, which, 
unfortunately, are making the beautiful mosaic floor 
uneven from their slight sinking, stands a marvel 
of human toil and skill. Pictures in mosaic which 
deceive the eye; treasures in precious stones around 
the pictures attributed to St. Luke, and occasionally 
exposed to view, and which we were so fortunate to 
see; and the tomb of St. Mark, whose body was only 
safely landed here by stratagem; the stone on which 
John the Baptist was beheaded; four elaborate col- 
umns from Solomon's Temple. St. Mark's chair is 
here, and the altar stone was brought from Mt. 
Tabor. We visited this church again and again, 
always finding something of new interest. We were 
fortunate in our guide, the one who had conducted 
Ruskin in his researches here. On the great square 
in front is the Campanile, which Napoleon ascended 
on horseback, the ascent being not by steps, but by 
an inclined plane. The clock tower, opposite, is 




> 



o 






Italy — Michael Angela — Galileo — Dante. 209 

curious, the hours being struck by bronze figures, 
with great hammers, on the bells. 

'J'he Palace of the Doges was reached by the 
(Jiant Stairs, so called from the gigantic statues of 
Neptune and jNIars on either side of them, on top. 
Here the Doges were crowned. The Hall of the 
Grand Council, with its historical reminiscences, its 
grand paintings, including the largest in the world, 
by Tintoretto, carries one through much of Venice's 
glory and troubles. . One painting represents Pope 
Alexander Third presenting the Doge with the ring 
to wed the Adriatic, and the museum contains the 
relics of the vessel in which the ceremony was per- 
formed. After the inspection of the many grand can- 
vases, we passed to the Chamber of the Council of 
Ten. Here was an opening in the wall, once sur- 
mounted by a lion's mouth, as indeed there had been 
in man}- ])laces, but Napoleon had them destroyed. 
Into these openings anonymous letters were cast, 
denouncing any one for whom another might take a 
dislike. It is to be regretted that travelers accept so 
readily the old hackneyed tales of Venetian horrors; 
they should take the pains to learn the truth. The 
distinguished writer of Some Lies and Errors of His- 
tory and Studies in Church History says of this favorite 
scarecrow: " Certainly there was no more connection 
between this 'Lion's Mouth' and tvrann\' than there 



2IO Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

is between tyranny and the postoffice boxes hanging 
on our lamp-posts. And as to the anonymous letters 
addressed to the Inquisitors, a law of 1387 decreed 
that they should be immediately burned. And when, 
towards the end of the sixteenth century, such dem- 
onstrations were sometimes admitted, no proceedings 
could be taken against the accused without a vote of 
four-fifths of the Council. And it is to be noted that 
the precautions taken against false testimony and 
false accusations were greater in Venice than in any 
other land." Many insist on connecting the clergy 
with "secret tribunals" and other bugaboos, but I 
will here insert a statement by Ruskin, in Stones of 
Venice, Volume I. In referring to his inability to 
give proper time to investigation of the restraints to 
which the Venetian clergy were subjected, he admits 
that the decline of Venetian power dates exactly from 
the period of exclusion of the clergy from the Coun- 
cils of State, and indorses Daru, who writes, "that at 
the close of the thirteenth century churchmen were 
not permitted to sit m vState Councils, and in 1434 
the Council of Ten, with the Guinta, declared even 
the relations of clergy ineligible to the post of Am- 
bassador to Rome, and were expelled. The parish 
priests were ordered to close the church doors at the 
Ave Maria, and to not ring the bells at certain hours." 
This disposes of the connection of the Church with 



Italy — Michael An^elo — Galileo — Dante. 211 

the famous Council of Ten. As to the " Inquisi- 
tion," intelHgent people are coming to be fair-minded 
enough to know it ^^■as a State affair. 

We crossed the famed "Bridge of Sighs," of 
which Byron wrote — 

" I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, 
A prison and a palace on each hand," 

inspected the dungeons and prisons to which trav- 
elers have given such a bad name, but of which the 
philanthropist, Howard, said: ''The new prisons are 
the best in regard to health I have ever visited, while 
the old prisons are said to be no worse than other 
European places of detention, although painted so 
black in romances." Our guide also pointed out to 
us the ''Piombi," or cells under the leaden roof of 
the Ducal Palace, where alleged tortures took place, 
and unhap]iy ])risoners were subjected to the dreadful 
sunnner heat and winter's cold. Daniel Mannin, the 
Venetian patriot of 1848, thus rebuked one who had 
been lamenting the woes of Venice in the establish- 
ment of those fearful torture chambers, whose terrors 
romancers were so fond of de])icting: " Can it l)e 
possible that you. an educated and serious man, be- 
lie\-e these nonsensical yarns? Do you still credit the 
tales of your nursery days?' 1 know these Piombi 
and these Po/.zi: 1 have been conlincd therein, and I 



212 Memories of a Red-Let fer Slimmer. 

can assure you that they are by no means uncomfort- 
able lodgmgs. Believe me when I say that all this 
talk about the cruelties of Venice is an old wife's 
tale." Ruskin measured tlie space between the 
prison cells and roof, and found them never less than 
five meters, and in some places nine meters high. 
This is but one instance. 

Out again through the Grand Court and across 
the Grand Canal we see the Church of Santa Maria 
della Salute, erected in 1632 in performance of a vow 
for the staying of the plague. The foundations are 
sustained by one million two hundred thousand piles. 
rV number of Titian's and Tintoretto's pictures are 
here, the masterpiece of the latter, the " Marriage in 
Cana," being especially noticeable. In the "Frari" 
are several tombs most interesting. That occupied by 
Canova was designed by him for Titian. The orig- 
inal was used for Christina of Austria, and is in 
Vienna, and his pupils executed this one for him- 
self. To my eyes, as to many others, it was a marvel 
of beauty. The inscription reads, " Hie Canova." 
Byron said of him: "Europe, the world, has but one 
Canova." His heart lies here, his right hand in the 
Academy of Arts, bis body in the village of his birth. 
Travelers accept Ruskin's opinions and form their 
own accordingly, but as T stood before the tomb of 
Canova, of his own design, Canova the great, I could 



Italy — Michael Angela — Galileo — Dante. 213 

not Imw \\\\ own ideas of the beautiful to those of 
Rnskin. who styles this tomb "intoleral)le in affecta- 
tion, ridiculous in conce])lion. null and \-oid to the 
uttermost in invention and feeling." Later in life, 
h(n\e\-cr, his views moderated, and he repudiated 
many of his early utterances. 

Titian's toml) is just opposite. A magnilicent 
conception, representing him seated and surrounded 
by the arts. His inscription, also simple, " Titiano, 
Ferdinandus." The other tomb most interesting was 
Foscari, one of the Doges, whose history is one of 
the most pathetic and tragic on record. His son, 
being innocently accused, was tortured and banished, 
.and he, the father, was obliged to pronounce sentence 
upon him. The Doge was not allowed to abdicate, 
as he wished, but after he had undergone the anguish 
of refusing the cry of his son, jileading that he might 
remain at home, cx'cn to endure the tortures of the 
rack, ,'uid the father said: " ( )bey what th\- counti'\" 
conunands, rnid seek nothing else," then the old 
Doge's enemies commanded his abdication, and then 
did his o\erstrung heart break in agon\. 

One of the most remarkable effects in marble that 
may be imagined is in the Chm-ch of the Jesuits. 
The puljjit appears to be co\-ered by draper\- and the 
carpets made to match, but it is .all cunningly car\ed 
marble, white and \ (.■ifb.antiiiue. The lloor mosaics 



214 Memories of a Red-Lettcr Summer. 

are also remarkably fine, and Titian and Tintoretto 
are represented here. 

San Petro di Castillo is very ancient, and the 
reputed scene of the carrying away of the " Brides 
of Venice." Venice is indeed a storehouse of histo- 
rical interest. The churches alone '\vould occupy one 
for weeks, to say nothing of the galleries, museums 
and studies of antiquities in general. Once occupy- 
ing the proud position as Queen of the Adriatic, she 
has sunk to a collection of decaying palaces. Her 
connnerce as well as political power was once im- 
mense. She was the center of attraction to great 
men of every clime and calling. Here Galileo in- 
vented the telescope: St. Ignatius organized the 
Jesuits; Petrarch was honored, and his books formed 
the foimdation of the present great library. The first 
book printed in Italy was issued here, in 1460, as well 
as the lirst newspaper in the world: and the lirst liank 
was organized. 

T nnist take space here to describe a very impor- 
tant and interesting work, a map of the world, exe- 
cuted between 1457 and 1459 by the cosmographer, 
Fra Mauro, a monk of the Convent of St. Michele. 
This monk made another one for Prince Henry of 
Portugal, while the Venetian Aloise da Mosto, the 
discoverer of the Cape de Verde Islands, was there. 



Italy — Michael Angela — Galileo — Dante. 215 

Da Mosto informed the monk of the last discoveries 
of the Portuguese on the western shore of Africa. 

" South is on the top of the map. The connec- 
tion of Africa and Asia is strange. A copy of this 
map was sent to Florence in 1470. It is known that 
the idea to reach by the sea \Yay the countries de- 
scribed by Marco Polo arose first in Portugal, and 
that the Canon Martinez, of Lisbon, wrote to the 
mathematician, Toscanelli, in Florence, for a map 
showing the distance l:)etween the Portuguese and 
Asiatic shores. Toscanelli sent the map first to Mar- 
tinez, and after to Columbus, who used it for the 
discovery of America. Toscanelli's map was prob- 
ably made after Fra Mauro's map. The discoveries 
of Columbus up to the year 1500 were described by 
Pietro I\I. d'Aughiera, and translated bv Angelo 
Trevisan, the secretary to the Venetian Ambassador 
to Spain, and publisherl in Venice in 1504. The only 
copy in e.xistence is in the library of St. Mark's. A 
short time Ijefore the Venetian .\mbassador, Capello. 
had been, in 1497, I^rc^cnted b)- King Ferdinand with 
one of the Indian chiefs. Me brought him to Venice, 
and the government, belie\ing that the Indian was a 
king, sent him to i'adua, where he lived and died in 
the palace of the Ciovernor." 

I ha\c copied this description as a more accurate 



2i6 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

account of the work which aided Columbus, and 
which we regarded accordingly with greatest interest. 
The square of St. Mark's is a never-failing center 
of interest. The surrounding corridors, with their 
bewildering array of beautiful and curious things, the 
passing of people of all nations, like a great kaleido- 
scope, the little tables where one may at once digest 
a lunch and the busy scene, and watch the swarms of 
doves, which are the delight of not only children, but 
also those of larger growth, while the corn merchant 
drives a profitable trade with his tiny bags of grain 
to feed the greedy little birds. The pigeons of St. 
Mark's are protected by law, as carrier pigeons once 
brought important messages to Venice from Dan- 
dolo. They are regularly fed at 2 o'clock in the 
afternoon, and we were told that in Holy Week, when 
the bells do not ring, the time may be told by the 
regularity of their return from all over the city, to be 
fed. The square may be called the heart of Venice. 
Of it Petrarch wrote: " I know not that the world 
has the equal of this place." Here all the principal 
events of the city occur. Here are concert hall, forum, 
the points of meeting with friends, the great prome- 
nade, the scene alike of carnivals and religious pro- 
cessions, the historical center of Venetian history. 
Tournaments were once held here, and at the door 
of the church Barbarossa made his submission to the 




St. Mark's Church and Plaza, Venice. 



Italy — Michael rhii^clo — Galileo — Dante. 217 

Sovereii^'ii Pontiff; and looking down on all are the 
bronze horses once ornamenting Nero's and Trajan's 
arches. These four bronze horses over the portico 
of St. Mark's have figured largely in history. They 
are attril)uted to Lysippus, the Greek. During the 
troul)led. early ages, these were regarded as precious 
tro{)hies by the conquerors. They were carried to 
Rome and placed on Trajan's triumphal arch, thence 
to Constantinople b}- Constantine, thence, after the 
fourth crusade, by the Venetians under their vener- 
able leader, Dandolo. In 1797 Napoleon seized and 
transported them across the Alps, where, in Paris, 
they graced the Triumphal Arch. In 181 5 Francis 
of Austria redeemed and returned them to Venice. 
The ])oet Rogers thus refers to them: 

■ In this temple porch, 
Old as he was, so near his hundredth year, 
And Miml, his eyes put out, did Dandolo 
Stand forth, displayinj^ on his crown the cross. 
There did he stand, erect, invincible. 



There did he stand with his old armor on. 

Ere he sailed away, five hundred gallant ships, 

lie went to die. 

But. of his Irophiis. inui arrived ere Umir, 
Snatched from destruction, — the four steeds divine, 
That strike the ground, resounding with their feet. 
And from their nostrils snort ethereal flame 
Over that very porch." 
(10) 



2i8 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

The winged lion of St. Mark's, on its Oriental 
column, with cavities for eyes, once jeweled, but de- 
stroyed by covetous captors, has a stormy history. 
The patron, St. Theodore, from his pedestal beholds 
the decaying grandeur of his old city and the coming 
of new peoples from afar to seie and comment. He is 
represented with the crocodile beneath his feet, sym- 
bolical of the fact that he destroyed the Eastern idols, 
the crocodile being held in veneration. For this he 
was martyred about the year 365. The guides tell us 
that the shafts which support the statue of St. Theo- 
dore and the Lion of St. Mark's were set up by a 
Lombard in 1171, who then and there was granted 
the right of lottery in the space between them, but 
at that period no games of chance were allowed in 
Venice. The injunction was laid upon Venetians: 
" Let the merchant's laws be just, his weights true, 
and his covenants faithful." The lion is in frequent 
evidence. The four guarding the entrance to the 
arsenal are very ancient, while above the door stands 
the ever-presiding " winged Lion " of St. Mark's. 

Entering a gondola, we glide along the Grand 
Canal, past moldering remnants of forgotten gran- 
deur, decaying palaces, each having some history, 
which our gondolier recalls to us as he mentions the 
name and points it out. Shakespeare and Byron 
have especially invested this place with a veil of ro- 




> 



o 



m 



Italv — Michael Angela — Galileo — Dante. 219 

niance. In one of the Mocenigo palaces Lord Byron 
lived and wrote several of his poems; and Tom 
Moore's brilliant presence once adorned it. The 
Foscari Palace, one of the finest specimens of Gothic 
architectnrc, wherein kings and queens ha\'e been 
guests, is now a commercial school. The Palace of 
Manin, the residence of the late Doge of Venice, is 
now a l)ank. Oneriri Palace l)elonged to a famil\- 
who were engaged in a conspiracy eight hundred 
vears ago, and it was in consequence as punishment 
conxerted into a slaughter house. The owner of the 
Pisarro Palace died in exile rather than behold his 
l()\ed Venice under the French flag. Tasso once 
occni)icd here a palace; and coming down to modern 
da)'s. the Brownings resided here, and a numljcr of 
rich Fnglish and Americans are buying up these old 
palaces. The Palace of Dandolo, who w^as elected 
Doge at the age of eighty-four, and distinguished 
himself with the crusaders at the siege of Constan- 
tinople, in sijite of his great age, ninety-sex-en, is now 
a cafe. The Calergie Palace bears on its outer walls 
the inscri])tinn, " Xon nobis, Domine, non nobis." 
Desdemona's Palace is ])f)inted out, and "the house 
of gold" was once of great magnificence. So. 
through this array of ancient s])lendor we l1oat. imag- 
ination busih' at work amr)ng the ruins. ImsIi mar- 
ket, llour market, ofiices, now sup])lant the ])laces 



2 20 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

once sacred to wealth and aristocracy. In the front 
of many, however, are the painted poles for the se- 
curing of the gondolas by the marble steps. Even 
steam launches are invading the waters of the Grand 
Canal, and their shrill whistle mingles with the cry 
of the gondolier. So we reach the Rialto, a fine 
specimen of bridge building, with shops along each 
side, but ending with a dirty little street full of ven- 
ders of all sorts of things. 

This part of the city is very ancient, being the 
Rialto proper, made familiar by Shakespeare's Mer- 
cliant of Venice, where Shy lock lived and walked. 
Shakespeare makes Shylock say: " Seignior Anto- 
nio, many a time and oft in the Rialto you have 
rated me about my moneys and my usances." Rialto 
is one of the largest islands where merchants most do 
congregate. Of the lovely moonlights Portia said: 
" The night, methinks, is but the daylight sick." And 
we realize this as we take a gondola and float out in 
the moonlight towards the Lagoon, passing the sing- 
ers grouped here and there in boats, around which 
gondolas are crowded, filled with happy and appre- 
ciative listeners. So on and on we glide, no rude 
sound disturbs us, our world on the placid waters, 
and the glorious moon above us, out almost to the 
Lido, one of the islands whose bathing facilities and 
other attractions bring thousands yearly to visit the 




o 



Italy — Michael Avgelo — Galileo — Dante. 221 

ancient city for mere pleasure, as well as to revel in 
its beauties and antiquities. After we bad passed tbe 
musicians, our g-ondolier M\n^ for us. Let us wliis- 
per one drawback to our enjoyment bere, tbe " fes- 
tive mosquito." I must mention, before leaving 
Venice, the wonderful glass work done here. For 
centuries this has lieen tbe great center of such work, 
and the magical creations only improve with time. 
We walked through tbe shops, admiring the fairy- 
like production and delicai-e tintings, Init, oh, when 
wc went in where tbe work was done, and saw the 
poor workmen sitting, red-eyed and wear}-, in the hot 
glare of the blow-pipe, our sympathies overcame our 
admiration. 

Now we go on to Padua, to visit tbe shrine of our 
dear St. Anthony, " the wonder-worker," the gentle, 
lovable saint, who belongs not only to Padua, but to 
the whole world. To the mere tourist Padua pre- 
sents the attraction of great antiquity, founded by 
Antenor, brother of Priam, King of Troy. This \vas 
the home of Excelino, who was such a demon of 
cruelty that tbe Pope is said to have preached against 
him, and Dante pictures his eternal torments in a sea 
of boiling blood. We noticed a tablet on a wall, 
which proclaimed it the spot which, in 1237, Excelino 
kissed tbe gate in joy for tbe capture of l^adua. Tn 
front of a house once ocnipied by l)ante is a sar- 



222 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

cophagTis supposed to contain the remains of the 
founder of Padua. The university is renowned, and 
accommodates over a thousand students. Padua is 
called " the learned," and was a nursery of art. The 
university was founded in the thirteenth century, and 
it is said that Petrarch, Galileo and Columbus studied 
here. Students have numbered as high as eighteen 
thousand. Its courts and halls still contain coats-of- 
arms of benefactors. It is now very much reduced. 
Loml^ardy's rich plain, naturally so well situated, has 
been called a " pleasure garden." Padua contains 
several plazas with statues, and the churches, as usual, 
are the depositories of many valuable works of art by 
the masters. The older streets have arcades over the 
sidewalks, and the botanic gardens are the oldest in 
Europe. But the shrine of St. Anthony was the 
center of attraction for us, and here we spent much 
time. Two magnificent candelabra adorn the tomb; 
in the sanctuary is a reliquary with his tongue, and 
has reliefs depict many of his miracles. 

With what fervor we implored the intercession 
of the great saint, so much the object of Divine love, 
that the Sacred Infant rewarded his great longing for 
Him b}^ reposing in his arms. 

We passed from here to the Church of St. Gius- 
tina. Over the high altar is a picture of her martyr- 
dom, painted by Paul Veronese, and her body lies 



Italy — Michael Angela — Galileo — Dante. 223 

beneath. To the right is the body of St. Matthew, 
and to the left that of St. Luke. We were admitted 
to the vauks beneath the church, and saw the tiny 
prison-house of the saint, behind bars, scarcely larger 
than a coftin, in which she endured imprisonment for 
five years, by order of Nero, when she was put to 
death. .\ large well contains the bones of three 
thousand martyrs, visible by a lighted candle, low- 
ered. The piazza Victor Emmanuel, with its stat- 
uary and trees, is very handsome, but the name grated 
on our ears in connection with those we had just been 
venerating. 

The Church of Madonna dell' Arena, dating back 
to 1300. contains a number of Giotto's frescoes. A 
stroll arrunid the old city recalled many events in its 
history, but the large market square, with its busy 
life, brought one back to the very lively present. 

Now we go on to Florence, and recall here Bry- 
ant's apostrophe to the Apennines: 

" Ages of war have filled tlicsc plains with fear; 

How oft tlic hind ha.s started at the clash 
Of spears and yell of meeting armies here, 

Or seen the lightning of the battle flash 
From clouds, th:it, rising with the thunder's sound, 
Hung like an carth-hmn tempe.st o'er the ground." 

[>cautiful IHorence on Ihc .Xrno! Like other 
European cities, this was the scene of much con- 



224 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

tention between the Guelphs and Ghibellines. ^The 
Medici family was the prevaiHng power for many 
years, but they finally became extinct, and a visit to 
the "Tombs of the Medicis," where the sculpture and 
designs are by Michael Angelo, is a sad commentary 
on human greatness. The family, which once dom- 
inated Florence, lies here in dust, the name only 
perpetuated in cold marble. Before the tomb of 
" Lorenzo the Magnificent " I stood, fascinated by 
the marble figure seated above, with drooping head 
and finger on lip, as if in deepest thought. Never 
have I seen a piece of sculpturing which so attracted 
me, and I found it hard to tear myself from the 
contemplation of this solemn, mystic figure. 

The first visit, of course, on reaching Florence 
was to the Cathedral. The dome, the widest in the 
world, by Brunelleschi, was a model for St. Peter's 
in Rome. Giotto's Tower, begun in 1334, was built 
by the great artist under orders for the " most mag- 
nificent " the world has ever seen, and after that I 
leave it to the imagination what it is. Ruskin called 
it " the model and mirror of perfect architecture." 
Giotto was but a poor shepherd boy, whose talent 
was discovered by Cimabue. His fame reaching 
Rome, Pope Boniface VITL, wishing to prove him, 
asked for a sign, when Giotto traced with a single 
stroke of his pencil a circle so perfect that it gave 




Dante Observing the Giotto Tower^ Florence. 



Italy — Michael Angela — Galileo — Dante. 225 

rise to the Italian pro\-eri). " Ixounder than the O of 
Giotto." \\'e were shown the stone on which Dante 
used to sit and watch the work on the Tower, and 
of course we made most of our observations from 
that point. 

Longfellow thus writes of Giotto's Tower: 

■■ In the old Tuscan town stands Giotto's tower, 
The Hly of Florence, blossoming in stone, — 
A vision, a delight and a desire, — 
The builder's perfect and centennial flower 
That in the night of ages bloomed alone." 

The baptistery, an octagonal building, dates back 
fifteen lum(h'ed years. Flere all the children born in 
the city are brought for baptism. The bronze doors 
are marvels of art; one might stud\' them a long 
time without tiring. Michael Angelo declared them 
worthy to 1)e the gates of Paradise. The interior of 
the building is gloom}', but ihe eye becomes accus- 
tomed to it. and is delighted with the mosaics and 
statues. In the pavement is a mosaic of the Zodiac, 
made !)}• an astrologer in 1048. 

The Misericordiae was next visited, under the 
direction of oiu^ intelligent guide. We were shown 
all possible courtesy. The society dates back to 
1240, when a pious man. in order to correct some 
abu.ses, formed a society to impose fines on those who 
shoidd be guilty of blasphemy. \\ ith this fund they 



226 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

were to purchase conveyances for the sick or the 
burial of the dead. For six hundred years they have 
pursued these works of mercy, and among the mem- 
bers are numbered some ilkistrious names. We were 
shown the name of the King, as an honorary member. 
A long gown and hood, with merely eye holes, dis- 
guise effectually the wearer. A gentleman who took 
us in charge showed us the Htters, explained all their 
workings, and donned the dress, which is quickly 
assumed when there is a call for their services. 
W. D. Howells writes of this Order in a " Florentine 
Mosaic" : 

" The sentimentalist may despair as he pleases, and have 
his fill of panic about the threatened destruction of the Ponte 
Vecchio, but I say, that while these brothers, ' black stoled, 
black hooded like a dream/ continue to light the way to dusky 
death with iheir flaring torches through the streets of Florence, 
the mediaeval tradition remains unbroken; Italy is stili Italy. 
They knew better how to treat death in the Middle Ages than 
we do now, with our vain profanation of flowers to his service, 
our loathsome dapperness of ' buiial caskets,' and dress coat and 
white tie for the dead. 

" These simple, old Florentines, with their street wars, their 
pestilences, their manifold destructive violences, felt instinctively, 
that he, the inexorable, was not to be hidden or palliated, not to 
be softened or petrified, or anywise made the best of, but was 
to be confes'^ed in all his terrible gloom, and in this they found 
not comfort, not alleviation, which time alone can give, but the 
anaesthesis of a freezing horror. 



Italy — Micharl Aiigclo — Galileo — Dante. 227 

"These masked and trailing sable fignres sweeping through 
the wide and narrow ways by night, to the wild, long rhythm 
ot their chant, in the red light ot their streaming torches, and 
bearing the heavily draped bier m iheir midst, supremely awe 
the spectator whose heart falters within him in the presence of 
that which alone is certain to be." 

Near the baptistery is a marble pillar, which has 
a peculiar history. \\'hen the body of St. Zanobius 
was passing this spot to its burial, the bier touched a 
withered tree standing there, and it burst into bloom. 
On each anniversary a metal branch is placed on the 
column to commemorate the event. We were shown 
the house of Cellini, whose Perseus is a marvel of 
sculpture; also the house of Ghiberti, whose fame is 
connected with the wonderful bronze gates of the 
Duomo; residences of Michael Angelo and of Machi- 
ax'elli, identified with the history of Florence; the 
gloomy looking house where J3ante wrote his Infcnw, 
and of Amerigo Vesinicci, whose name our country 
bears. And up hill we drove to the house of Galileo, 
stood in the room where his familiar objects still re- 
main, climbed u\) the tower from which he used to 
observe the heavens, and sigherl o\'er the fate of 
blindness which overto(d< him. and which must have 
been to him especially a terrible aflliction. In this 
room he was visited by Milton, who also became 
blind. While on the subject of Galileo 1 wish to 



228 Memories of a Rr.d-hetter Summer. 

insert here some remarks which I hope may stimu- 
late those who may read these pages, to investigate 
the other side of the story of what has been presented 
to a credulous and prejudiced public. I shall quote 
briefly from the distinguished Reuben Parsons' article 
on Galileo: 

" School children are frequently told that in a time of most 
dense ignorance, Galileo, an Italian astronomer, discovered that 
the earth moves around the sun ; that this doctrine was contrary 
to that of the Catholic Church, and that, therefore, the unfor- 
tunate scientist was seized by the Inquisition, thrown into a 
dungeon and tortured ; that finally he retracted his teaching, but 
that, nevertheless, while ostensibly yielding, he muttered: 'And 
yet the earth does move.' Very few Protestants even suspect any 
exaggeration in these assertions, still fewer appear to know that 
Galileo did not discover that the earth moves around the sun; 
that this doctrine was not contrary to that of the Catholic 
Church ; that the imprisonment of Galileo was merely nominal, 
and that he was subjected to no torture whatever; that the 
famous remark, ' E pur si muove,' is a work of imagination. The 
Church can not propose any system of merely physical science as 
a matter of faith, and if any system contradicts her teachings, she 
has a right to condemn it. Cardinal del Monte wrote : ' If I 
were living in the olden days of Rome, I think the worth of 
Galileo would be recognized by a statue on the Capitoline.' ' The 
fault of Galileo consisted in his confusing revealed truths with 
physical discoveries, and in teaching in what sense Scripture pass- 
ages were to be taken, explaining them by demonstrations of cal- 
culation and experience, and he said that in the Scriptures are 




G.M.ii.Ko'rt TowKK. Fr.oRENCiv, Itaia'. 



//c7/_v — Michael Angela — Galileo — Dante. 229 

. found propositions which, taken Hterally, arc false. These asser- 
tions unsettled all science, founded, as it then was, on revelation,' 
and so on for many pages." 

This is quoted from Parson's Lies and Errors of 
History. 

We saw the house and bridge, Ponte Vecchio, five 
hunch'ed years old, from which Tito jumped to escape 
the mob. as George Eliot's romance of Romola re- 
lates. Coming down to modern persons, we saw the 
former residence of the Brownings, the " Casa Guidi," 
on which a tablet has been placed, for Mrs. Brown- 
ing has endeared herself 10 the Florentines. She is 
iDuried in Florence. The house of Hiram Powers, 
our American sculptor, was pointed out to us. and 
Ouida now resides here. The beautiful Boboli Gar- 
dens are adjacent to the Pitti Palace, which is one of 
the great centers of art collections. 

The Piazza del Signoria is in the center of the 
city, and has been the scene of many political events. 
Here was the prison and death scene of Savonarola, 
and near by. under a grand marble portico, the 
Loggia of the Lancers, in which stand wonderful 
works of art, the Per'^eus of Cellini and other famed 
pieces. It seemed so strange to us to see such treas- 
ures exposed to open air. Among monuments we 
noted that of ]*rincc DcmidolT. I lis father was a 



230 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

poor blacksmith, who rose, under favor of the Czar, 
from one post to another, until he received a title of 
nobility, and the son made yearly visits to Florence 
and bestowed vast sums in charity. There is a mon- 
ument to Maharajah Chuttraputti, an Indian Prince, 
who died here en route from England to his Indian 
home. His body, according to the customs of his 
people, was carefully prepared, tenderly laid upon a 
magnificent funeral pile, and was so consumed. His 
ashes were carefully collected and sent to his home in 
a golden vase. There is a statue to Dante, whose 
troubled life at last ended at Ravenna, which city 
declined to surrender his body to its native Florence. 
In the Church of Santa Croce are the tombs of 
Michael Angelo, who here chose his resting place, 
Galileo, Alfieri, Machiavelli, Cherubini, and a beau- 
tiful monument to Dante. Eyron wrote: 

" In Santa Croce'o holy precincts lie 

Ashes which make it holier, dust which is 
Even in itself an immortality, 

Though there were nothing save the past." 

In the Museum of San Marco, once a monastery, 
are many works of Fra Angelico and Fra Barthol- 
omeo. At the Church of St. Michaele, in the group 
of the apostles, stands St. Mark, by Donatello, to 
which it is said Michael Angelo spoke, attracted by 
its life-like appearance: "Why dost thou not speak 



Italy — Michael Angclo — Galileo — Dante. 231 

to me, Mark?" Beautiful Florence; nature and art 
have combined to make her a perfect city. To us, 
strangers, mere visitors of the day, her loveliness ap- 
peals. WHiat must have been the regrets that filled 
the soul of her great son Dante when exiled from her! 
Our brief time deprives us the privilege of visit- 
ing V^alamlirosa. Milton loved this place, and of him 
Mrs. Browning wrote: "' He sang of Paradise and 
smiled, remembering Valambrosa." Pascarel wrote: 
" Every road, every gable, every tower, has some 
story of the past in it." Well, we made the most of 
our little time in drives and walks and gathering 
mementoes, from the olive branches from " Minerva's 
tree " and little flowers along the way, to bits of 
views and other objects associated with the lovely 
Tuscan city. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

ROME — THE FORUM — COLISEUM — ST. PETER'S 
— DOMINE, QUO VADIS — CATACOMBS- 
YEAR OF JUBILEE— GOLDEN DOOR 
— PAPAL AUDIENCE — 
LEO XIII. 

After six hours' ride from Florence we reached 
Rome, the " Eternal City." Proceeding to the Hotel 
Minerva, by advice of a clergyman friend, we find 
ourselves much at home, as many connected with the 
English pilgrimage are here, and our own language 
has a musical sound, after so long an experience of 
foreign tongues. 

In front of our hotel stands an ancient Egyptian 
obelisk on the back of a marble elephant, dating back 
over six hundred years B.C. We cross the street, 
and are in the Church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva. 
This spot was once occupied by a temple, built by 
Domitian to the goddess Minerva. 

On the 2 1 St of April the Romans celebrate the 
Palilian festival, in honor of Pales, the goddess of 
shepherds. Everything is done with the idea of re- 
viving the customs of ancient Rome. It is to com- 
memorate the tradition of the shepherds, who discov- 
ered the twin sons of the god Mars and the Vestal, 



Rome — 77?r Catacombs — Leo XIII. 233 

Rhea Sylvia, Romulus and Remus, being nursed by 
a wolf on the Palatine Hill, where they afterwards 
began the wall that was Rome's foundation. 

After our thanksgiving for a safe journey and the 
privilege of visiting Rome, we turn across another 
street, and are in front of the Pantheon. This place 
was the Campus JMartius. The building, now known 
as St. Mary of the Martyrs, was built by Agrippa, 
whose name is cut in great letters over the portico. 
" To the honor of all the gods." A Pantheon. We 
gaze in awe at this great circular structure, and pass 
into the portico, forty-four feet wide and one hun- 
dred and ten feet long, supported by sixteen columns. 
The Popes have had repairs made since the temple 
was changed from Pagan to Christian worship. The 
immense dome is roofless, and the interior is lighted 
\\\ tliis way; the floor gently sloping, soon carries ofl^ 
the rain. Tlic niches around the wall, where Agrippa 
had statues of heathen deities, are now occupied by 
altars. The tomb of Raphael is here, who willed the 
statue of the Madonna on the altar, and near by is 
also the tomb of his promised wife, who died before 
he did. The tomb of Victor Emmanuel was much 
noted by the parties visiting, and was covered with 
wreaths. Many relics of the martyrs arc here pre- 
servecl. Tlic bronze doors are the same placed here 
by Agripjia at the l)uil(Hiig of this temple, twenty- 



2.34 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

seven years before Christ. The Column of Trajan 
commemorates his deeds by bas reliefs in spiral 
bands, and the study of them is the study of his life 
and his love by his people. He liked the society of 
literary men, and was the friend of PHny and Tacitus. 
Among the most noted obelisks was that on the 
Piazza del Popolo, brought here by Augustus and 
raised in honor of Apollo. Hawthorne says: " This 
red granite obelisk is the oldest of old things in 
Rome, and all assume a visionary character when we 
think that this monument suppHed one of the recol- 
lections which Moses and the Israelites bore from 
Egypt into the desert. Perchance on beholding it 
they whispered, awe struck, to one another: ' In its 
shape it is like that old obelisk which we and our 
fathers have so often seen on the borders of the 
Nile' ; and now that very obehsk, with hardly a trace 
of decay on it, is the first thing that a modern traveler 
sees on entering the Flaminian Gate." The obelisk 
of the Lateran was brought here by Constantine from 
a temple of the sun at Heliopolis, where it stood in 
honor of Pharaoh Thotmes Fourth a hundred and 
seventy-four years before Christ, Another obelisk 
from the same place was brought by Caligula, and 
stands in a piazza in front of St. Peter^s. On the 
occasion of its removal from where he placed it to 
this spot, over three hundred years ago, the incident 



Rome — The Cafacombs — Leo XIII. 235 

occurred \\hich James AEeline graphically relates. 
Owing" to the immensity of the nndertaking, in which 
nine hundred Nvorkmen were engaged, strict silence 
among the spectators had been commanded, that the 
orders of those in charge might be heard and there 
should be no distractions. Meline says: 

'■ Suddenly this .silence was broken by a shrill cry, ' Wet the 
ropes! ' Smoke had been issuing from them, and they were 
about to catch fire when the warning came. The warning cry 
was uttered by a Genoese woman named Bresca, whose presence 
of mind was equaled by her courage, for the threatened penalty 
of breaking silence was death. As a recompense for her brave 
disobedience, she obtained for herself and her descendants the 
privilege of furnishing the palms used at St. Peter's on Palm 
Sunday, and her family preserve the monopoly to this day." 

The broken obelisk in front of the Pantheon is 
from the Temple of Isis. 

]\Iany of the triumphal arches have been demol- 
ished. Among" those remaining we noticed one of 
Drusus. to celebrate victories over the Germans near 
the time of the Christian era. The Arch of Constan- 
tine, erected in 312, is a study of history in l)as reliefs, 
and is well preserved, while that of Titus commem- 
orates the destruction of Jerusalem, and bears bas 
reliefs of the Jewish captives bearing the treasures to 
Rome, including the golden candlesticks. 

The Roman baths are a marvel of former magnifi- 
cence. Thev were nnnicrDUs, and were the resorts of 



236 Memories of a Red-Letfer Summer. 

the fashionables of the day. At the Diocletian Bath 
three thousand bathers were accommodated at one 
time. The ruins of the baths of Caracalla, on the 
Appian Way, give evidence of the high state of per- 
fection to which these things were brought. Libra- 
ries, paintings, statuary, gardens, and fountains of 
hot and cold water, mosaic pave — all show the lux- 
urious living of old Roman times. Here one thou- 
sand six hundred bathers had room at one time. The 
aqueducts brought water for miles to the city, and 
were stupendous structures; one dating back three 
hundred and twelve years before the Christian era. 
On an artificial lake in Caesar's garden, Augustus 
gave sea fights, in which three thousand men en- 
gaged. During one period three hundred and thirty- 
three million gallons daily were served free to the 
people, and five hundred and ninety-one open reser- 
voirs contained water for all who came to carry it 
aw^ay. Fountains are on every hand, with their co- 
pious flows of water. Sewerage system or drainage 
was so finely engineered that the walls still remain as 
firm as when built, nearly twenty-five hundred years 
ago; one is in perfect order. Over seventeen hun- 
dred years ago Pliny wrote of this work: " Seven 
streams are emptied into this channel and sweep like 
a torrent; and when storm waters are added, the walls 
shake. The Tiber rises and is beaten back; earth- 



Rome — The CatacoDibs — Leo XIII. 237 

quakes cause the place to tremble; great weights are 
carried through, yet the work stands uninjured. A 
monument to antiquity, which is too often unno- 
ticed." Pliny describes Rome as a city suspended in 
the air, on account of her fine sewerage. Truly the 
Romans builded for eternity. One wall, likewise 
erected twenty-five hundred years ago, being re- 
quired to l)e remo\'ed for a railway, could onl}' be 
stirred by blasting. Their roads, constructed centu- 
ries ago, wherever their conquests led them into Ger- 
many or Britain, still remain perfect. The Appian 
Way, " the c|ueen of roads," fifteen feet wide and over 
a hundred miles long, is a mar\-el of road building. 
At the Forum we paused among the ruins. The 
graceful pillars, which once supj^orted the Temple of 
Saturn, are from nearly \\\<^ hundred \'cars before 
Christ. Excavations ha\'e brought much to light: 
Three pillars remain of the Temple of Castor and 
Pollux; the Basilica Julia; and the rostrum where 
Marc Antony deli\'ered his oration o\er the dead 
body of Caesar, and X'irginins slew his daughter, 
'i'he head of Cicero hung here after his murder by 
order of Antony. At one end stood the " Golden 
Milestone." from whence, as mistress of the world. 
Bonu- compiUed distances to other ])arts. A tomb 
is here, regarded as that of Boumlus. 'i'he W-stal 
Temple is still beautiful. We \isited the theater of 



238 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

Marcellus, built thirteen years before Christ. It is 
near the Ghetto, or Jewish quarter. We were con- 
ducted through the immense parts, still preserved, 
and over the arches the smoke still marks the de- 
struction of Rome by fire under Nero. There re- 
mains of it chiefly the great semicircle of the audi- 
torium, a double arcade. Our guide bade us look 
up what seemed an immense chimney, and told us 
that criminals were sometimes cast down here. 

Above the ruins of the old theater the palace of 
the Orsini family stands, while on the streets in the 
old arches workmen of different trades keep hammer 
and saw at work. Here was also once the Cenci 
Palace, and we were shown the room of the ill fated 
Beatrice, whose tomb is in St. Petro in Montorio. 

The Tarpeian Rock, down which criminals were 
once hurled, did not appear so formidable. Haw- 
thorne's romance makes attractive to tourists Hilda's 
Tower, where a lamp was ever kept burning. The 
bronze Aurelius, said to be the finest equestrian statue 
in the world, stands on a public square. 

We cross the yellow Tiber on a bridge built seven- 
teen hundred years ago by Hadrian, as a path to the 
magnificent mausoleum he erected for his sepulture. 
It has been repaired and added to, but the original 
arches remain. The tomb was once surmounted by 
a statue of Hadrian, and other statues stood around 



Rome — The Catacombs — Leo XIII. 239 

the walls, but these were cast down on the Gothic 
invaders in 537. Where Hadrian's statue stood is 
now the figure of an angel sheathing his sword, and 
the tomb is now the Castle of St. Angelo. The statue 
was erected in memory of an apparition beheld by 
Pope Gregory in 590, while leading a procession to 
St. Peter's to pray for the cessation of the plague. 
The Church of St. Gregory is in honor of the saint 
who, in the beginning of the seventh century, went as 
a missionary to Great Britain. Montalembert said: 
'' Where is the Englishman who can contemplate, 
without emotion, this corner of the great world, from 
whicli he received the Faith, the name of Christian, 
and the Bible of which he is so proud!" 

The golden house of Nero was built by the tyrant 
over the immense space, to obtain which, in A.D. 64. 
the great fire was employed to sweep the grounds he 
desired to occupy. This house is proven by archae- 
ologists to ha\'e occupied nearly a square mile. There 
were gardens, baths, lakes, fountains and temples, and 
he had his own statue of colossal size in bronze. The 
tiles of his roof were plated with gold. Titus and 
others took pains to destroy this tyrant's work, and 
now, after eighteen hundred \cars, little remains of 
this crowning piece of \-anity of Nero's life. He pre- 
sumed too far on e\en the lu\ury-lo\ing ])eo])le, and 
at last thev revolted, and his downfall came; and as 



240 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

he drank the poisoned cup, he exclaimed: " What an 
artist the world loses in me!" Under Nero the 
fiercest persecutions raged. The Christians were 
sewed in the skins of wild beasts to be worried by 
dogs, or covered with pitch and set up to light 
the city. 

The Coliseum! What a monument to the build- 
ers of ancient Rome! 

" We stood within the Colosseum's walls 
Mid the chief relics of almighty Rome. 
Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth; 
But the gladiator's bloody circus stands, 
A noble wreck in ruinous perfection." 

The Amphitheater occupies six acres of ground, 
and this is surrounded by four stories of arches. The 
arena could be flooded with water for mock naval 
battles, but here on these sands gladiators fought, 
wild animals were turned loose upon each other, and 
these ancient walls have echoed the cry:. "The Chris- 
tians to the lions!" Our guide broke from a step a 
piece of brick as hard as flint, and I thought of the 
toiling captive Jews, who under Titus were forced to 
give their labor to this massive work. After the de- 
struction of Jerusalem by Titus, many thousand Jews 
were taken captive to R(jme, and these were com- 
pelled to labor on the construction of this stupendous 
afifair. The cost might not be estimated, but Titus 



RoDie — Th.c Catacombs — Leo XIII. 241 

is said to have turned to it the course of a river of 
gold. It would seat eiglity-seven thousand people. 
One of the early martyrs was the holy Bishop, St. 
Ignatius. Cast to the v.ild beasts in the arena, he 
prayed: " I am the grain of the Lord, to be ground 
by the teeth of the lions, in order to be made the 
liread of Christ." \\'e felt that indeed we stood on 
sacred ground, consecrated 1\\' the Idood of martyrs, 
from the aged Bishop, through strong manhood, deh- 
cate womanhood, to the crimson tide from the brave 
hearts of innocent maidenhood and infancy. The last 
martx'r of the Coliseum was the pious monk, Tele- 
macluis. in the }-ear 404. Entering Rome, he fol- 
lowed the crowd to the a''ena, where the Calends of 
January were to be inaugurated, and as the games 
had not commenced, his presence was noted for its 
fjuiet manner, and conjectures N\ere many as to his 
identity. The gladiators entered and the fierce 
combats began. l)Ut Telemachus, seized with horror, 
leaped from his place, sprang between the combat- 
ants, and whirled them apart. The wildest frenzy 
possessed the spectators, while the gladiators stood 
in wonrler as at the sight of a superior being. The 
holy monk endeavored to address the ])eople, but in 
their rage they tore up Ixmches and cast upon him 
with \vhatc\cr nu'ssiles came to hand, and kneeling 
on the sands, he expired, a mart\"r. 'idic iCmiJcror 
(II) 



242 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

Honorius suppressed the inhuman sport, and thus 
the sacrifice of Telemachus vv^as accepted in heaven. 

A ring of tall masts once rose above the walls for 
the support of awnings, and the immense blocks of 
travertine were held together by iron clamps instead 
of mortar. Great holes show where these fasten- 
ings have been wrenched away for use elsewhere. 
For many years it was used for a quarry, from which 
material was carried for other buildings, but the later 
Popes have endeavored to protect, and in some places 
restored sufficiently to prevent further decay. We 
saw the cages where wild beasts had been, and the 
rooms for the gladiators to await their call to be 
" butchered to make a Roman holiday." 

Precious indeed is this place to Christian faith! 
The arena had a cross erected in the center, and the 
stations of the Cross around it, but the government 
under Victor Emmanuel had all these removed, and 
there are no more religious processions, no more 
open-air preaching. 

The venerable Prisoner of the Vatican remains, 
and receives within his walls the homage of his 
people. There his life is spent in prayer for them 
and the return of Faith, whilst against the " rock of 
Peter " beat wildly, but vainly, the waves of heresy, 
unbelief and persecution, secure in the Divine prom- 
ise, that " the gates of hell shall never prevail against 



Rome — Tlie Catacombs — Leo XIII. 243 

her." From the walls of the Coliseum, as other ven- 
erable ruins, the clinging vines have been torn away, 
depriving them of the picturesque appearance they 
presented in Mother Nature's mantle. One recalls 

the lines: 

" VAHiile stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand; 
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall; 
And when Rome falls, the world." 

But who would attempt to do justice to this one 
spot in Rome! Goethe wrote: "One should have 
a hundred hands to write, for what can a single pen 
do here? All else seems little, so vast is this; one 
can not hold the image in one's soul. We return 
each time to find it greater than before. Wdien I 
lea\'e Rome I shall wish I were still coming to it." 

The Capitoline Hill was a citadel, and near here 
are the ruins of the Temple Concordia, where Camil- 
lus, Czcneral and Dictator, weary of contentions, 
vowed and built a temple to the newly created 
di^'inity. 

A ])ious writer says of the palaces of Rome, 
" Scarcely a trace of personality of pagan life re- 
mains," and contrasts them with the dreary Mamer- 
tine Prison, where we saw the water still nnming 
which sprang at the cnnnuand of the ajxistlc to bap- 
tize his jailer converts: where Peter and Paul suf- 
fered, and on the side of the wall, descending into 



244 Memories of a Red- Letter Suvimer. 

the dungeon, protected by an iron grill, remains the 
impress of St. Peter's face, miraculously preserved, 
where the soldiers had rudely crushed him against 
the stone. In the church above, of St. Peter in 
Prison, especial prayers are offered for deliverance 
from violent death. 

At the home of St. Alessio is seen the decaying 
stairway under which he lived for seventeen years, a 
disguised beggar in his patrician father's house. So 
hundreds and hundreds of personal surroundings of 
the saints remain. Passing out of St. Paul's gate 
through the walls, we note a pyramid to our right, 
which is the tomb of Caius Cestius, praetor, priest 
and tribune, who died twelve years before the Chris- 
tian era. Along this Appian Way have passed many 
triumphal processions returning to Rome after con- 
quests, laden with treasures, and their prisoners 
chained to their chariot wheels. Here, among others, 
came Palmyra's captive queen, Zenobia. And these 
stones have been pressed by the feet of the apostles 
and the fleeing Christians. Tombs crowd both sides 
of the way. The family vault of the Scipios is noted, 
but the " Scipios' tombs contain no ashes now." 
Here once rested the remains of Barnatus, the great 
grandfather of Scipio Africanus. who pursued Han- 
nibal into Africa two hundred years before Christ, 
but Barnatus died in exile. 



Rome — Tlw Catacombs — Leo XIII. 245 

Two hundred and eighteen years before Christ, 
Hannibal crossed the Alps, far south. This was a 
wonderful achievement, as he had to fight his way 
across the land before reaching the mountains. He 
started with ninety thousand foot soldiers and twelve 
thousand horsemen and a large number of elephants. 
The winter was at hand, yet he accomplished his pur- 
pose. It is well to recall here the achievements of 
the philosopher Archimedes, six years later, who at 
the siege of Syracuse set fire to the ships of the 
Romans by means of burning glasses, concentrating" 
the sun's rays, and his construction of pow^erful en- 
gines of war, which aided in the defense of the city. 
Scipio Africanus, the conc[ueror of Hannibal, was the 
father of the noble lady, Cornelia, whose womanly 
virtues have shone down through the ages, and whose 
elegant accomplishments made her home a center for 
the assembly of learned people. Withal her children 
were her " jewels," and at her death a statue was 
erected in her honor, with the simple inscription, 
" Cornelia, llic mother of the Gracchi." 

We stopped at a modest little cha])el by the road- 
side, built to commemorate the scene where Peter, 
fleeing from persecution, met our I)i\-ine Lord, and, 
in surprise at the apparition, cried: " Domine, cjuo 
vadis?" — "Lord, where goest Thou?" The l^ord re- 
plied: "1 return to be crucified in thy place"; but 



246 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

Peter, stricken with remorse, turned back, and suf- 
fered, liead downward, by his own wish, as unworthy 
to be crucified like his Master. The impress of the 
Sacred Feet was left on the Way, but was removed, 
and is on the altar in San Sebastian Church. A fac- 
simile remains here, carved in marble, and surrounded 
by an iron railing. Two frescoes on the wall keep in 
mind the incident, also a copy of Michael Angelo's 
" Christ Bearing His Cross," as St. Peter met Him. 

The Arch of Drusus, near by, is the most ancient 
of all the arches built in his honor, and along this 
Way his body was carried, to be buried by his step- 
father, Augustus. It was written of this period' 
"At the moment when Drusus was throwing bridges 
across the Rhine and cutting roads through the Black 
Forest, it was time to make haste. For ten years 
later a town of Judea would give birth to Him whose 
disciples were to pass along these roads and complete 
the destruction of barbarism." 

Now we enter beneath a gateway and ruined 
tomb and pass dark cypress trees, along a foot-walk, 
up to a little building, where Trappist monks guard 
the entrance of the catacombs of St. Calixtus. As we 
register our names from Kentucky, before starting on 
the descent, the English-speaking monk smiles and 
says: "Ah, yes, Kentucky — we have there a house!" 
and seemed much interested, for at Gethsemane, in 



Rome — The Catacombs — Leo XIII. 247 

Kentiickw is their retreat. We received our tapers, 
and followed him with awe down the steps to the 
sacred way of the early Christians and martyrs. So 
sacred is even the dust of the tombs, now merely 
empty niches, that no one ma}' remove a particle, 
under pain of excommunication. Numerous pent 
houses, roofed with glass, stand about the fields for 
air and light for the larger chambers. The heart 
is thrilled with sacred emotions on descending into 
these'repositories of the ancient Christian dead. As 
we passed, taper in hand, among the silent, empty 
tombs, we thought of the fleeing Christians, who 
here in secresy attended the Divine Sacrifice, enter- 
ing through hidden paths known only to the faithful, 
but even then often surprised and dragged to torture 
and death by the pagan soldiery. 

We are indebted mainly to the efforts of Pope 
Pius IX., of blessed memory, for organizing, in 1851, 
a Commission of Archaeology, headed by the great 
scientist, De Rossi, and composed of greatly learned 
men. to conduct, in a systematic manner, researches 
in the catacombs, thus enriching the world with the 
relics of the past. These galleries are estimated to 
comprise three hundred and fifty miles, and with their 
many windings and turnings form many a labyrinth, 
into which none dare enter without a guide. De- 
voted to the burial of Christian dead, the inscriptions 



248 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

read of hope, of prayers for the souls, of the symbols 
of faith. Alas! for the scoffer who would enter these 
sacred precincts. Dead, indeed, to the workings of 
Divine Grace the heart that would not here bow in 
humble adoration, and concede the consoling prac- 
tice of prayers for the dead. Our guide frequently 
directed us to hold our tapers to some inscriptions 
and faint frescoes of pious, symbolical nature on the 
walls. What other proof need one require than a 
visit to the catacombs, that the Church of to-day 
is exactly the same as in the time of her Divine 
Founder? We stood where the body of St. Cecilia 
had been laid. The pagan rulers desired to dese- 
crate the tombs of the martyrs, so the early Chris- 
tians often filled them up to conceal them; and here 
St. Cecilia was found in the beginning of the ninth 
century. The fresco of vSt. Peter baptizing is fre- 
quent, and everywhere the fish, symbolizing Christ 
Himself, and bread, the Holy Eucharist. Again, a 
mother and child in arms, the Blessed Virgin and 
the Divine Infant; Jonah and the whale, typifying 
our Lord lying in the grave three days; the raising 
of Lazarus, the dove, and a prayer for rest and peace. 
Our guide took our rosaries and pressed them into a 
little place where the blood of a martyr had been in 
a vial, as their tombs were always thus marked. As 
we emerged in the open air we noted a storm ap- 



Rome — The Catacombs — Leo XIII. 249 

proaching, and hurried to shelter, and while waiting 
for the wind and rain to sn1:)side, added some me- 
mentoes of our visit to our very interesting lot of 
souvenirs. 

Farther on. above us on the hill, stood an im- 
mense round structure, the tonib of a noble, virtuous 
matron. Cecilia ^letella, the wife of the triumvirate, 
Licinus Crassus, who fell in battle fifty-three years 
before Christ. Of this Byron wrote: 

" There is a stern round tower of other days, 
Firm as a fortress with its fence of stone. 
What was this tower of strength! Within its cave 
What treasure lay so locked? A woman's grave. 
I know not why, but standing thus by thee 
It seems as if I had thine inmate known. 
Thou tomb, and other days come back to me 
With recollected music." 

Rettn-ning. we sto]:ipcd at the Chiu-ch of San 
Sebastian, in honor of the young soldier, who. under 
Diocletian, won the palm of mar^-trdom by being 
shot with arrows. Being left for dead, his body was 
borne to the Imusc of a Christian, who revived him. 
and again he a])pearcd to the t}'rant, who ordered 
him to be clubbed to death and casl into the great 
sewer. A charitable womau beheld him in a vision 
and recovered his brxly. which was regarded as a 
sacred trust, and over his tomb the lirst Christian 



250 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

Emperor, Constantine, erected a basilica. To those 
who have read the beautiful stories of those days the 
Campagna will present great interest. Sometimes an 
innocent youth would be selected to carry the Holy 
Eucharist, unsuspected, to the fugitive clergy for the 
sick or dying, in order to escape the fierce persecu- 
tions, and in the catacombs rested the ashes of at 
least one young, faithful messenger; suspected, but 
dumb to the questioners, he suffered death rather 
than betray his Sacred Treasure. Pope Damasus 
wrote his epitaph, which, being translated, reads: 

'' Christ's secret gifts, by good Tarcisius borne, 
The niob profanely bade him to display. 
He rather gave iiis own limbs to be torn, 
Than Christ's celestial to mad dogs betray." 

In Cardinal Wiseman's Fabiola such scenes are 
depicted. The tomb of Seneca is on the Appian 
Way, and here also stood the villa in which he sui- 
cided. So we turn to the city wrapt in dreams of 
what we have witnessed and dazed with the beauty 
of the scene. The Alban and Sabine hills in the 
background, the line of the sea afar off, the mists, 
piu'ple and gold, over the Campagna — "the moon 
is up, but yet it is not night; sunset divides the sky 
with her." The soft tinkle of a bell occasionally, 
the peasants returning to their homes from labor in 



Rome — The Catacombs — Leo XIII. 251 

their picturesque costumes — all is like a dream we 
do not wish to speak. 

Another day we go out to visit St. Paul's outside 
the Walls, and the "Three Fountains." On the road 
to the basilica is a chapel marking the separation of 
Saints Peter and Paul, when the latter addressed St. 
Peter: " Peace be with thee, foundation of the church 
and shepherd of all the lambs of Jesus Christ." At 
the Three Fountains is shown the pillar on which St. 
Paul was beheaded. His head bounded three times, 
and on each spot a fountain sprung up. Over each 
fountain stands an altar bearing the head in relief. 
Here on the 29th of June, in the year 66, St. Paul 
" l)ore his testiuKju}- and grasped his crown." His 
body lies beneath the altar of St. Paul's outside the 
Walls, a most magnificent and modern appearing 
church, although the foundation dates back to Con- 
stantine. It was burned, and restored in its present 
a]:)pearance. A miraculous crucifix is here, and here 
St. Ignatius Loyola and his disciples received the 
Order of the Jesuits in 1541. Above the cohunns 
are mosaic portraits of every Pope, from St. Peter to 
the present TvCO XHI. During our visit the English 
pilgrimage was also here in ]M-ocession. and as they 
approached the High .Altar and stood to intone the 
Credo, the walls gave back the echoes in tones that 
thrilled the Christian heart, llcre, over eighteen 



252 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

hundred years ago, the martyred Paul was laid, and 
now, after the lapse of centuries, come people from 
every clime to bear testimony to the very same doc- 
trines taught by their Divine Master. No change — 
the Church is immutable! So great has been the 
veneration for this spot that when the fire of 1823 
demolished the first buildings, foreign rulers, both 
Christian and otherwise, sent offerings to rebuild it. 
The Pasha of Egypt gave four columns of Oriental 
alabaster; the Emperor Nicholas of Russia sent pre- 
cious malachite. Constantine's first care was to pro- 
vide for the tombs of the apostles, and with his own 
hands always broke the first ground. About the 
church of the Three Fountains the eucalyptus trees 
grow thickly, and are all along the Campagna. Much 
has been redeemed of this great plain by reason of 
planting by the monks of these malaria killing trees. 
The leaves are long and slender, and much used in 
preparation of medicines and germ-destroying prep- 
arations. " Santa Croce in Jerusalem " contains pre- 
cious relics of the Passion of our Lord. It was 
founded by St. Helena, the mother of Constantine, 
who brought from the Holy Land a part of the true 
cross, one of the nails, two of the thorns, and the title 
which the Jews placed over our Savior's head. 

We have, meanwhile, made daily visits to St. 
Peter's, and been privileged to attend confession 



Rome — The Catacombs — Leo XIII. 253 

and recei\'e Holy Communion, hoping to obtain the 
Jiil)ik'c indulgence. Now we go, kneeling, in at the 
■' Golden Door," and at each side stands a priest with 
extended rod, which we kiss as an act of humility. 
Only those who have visited St. Peter's can form an 
idea of the emotion that possesses one on entering 
tlii> ])lace. Ap])roaching it through the great piazza, 
or s(|uare, \vc note on each side the grand colonnades, 
each containing four rows of columns forty-eight feet 
high, which a pious writer describes as seeming "like 
the arms of Holy Mother Church opening to receive 
her children, coming to her from all lands, while the 
fountains seem to welcome them." Over the door is 
St. Peter kneeling at the feet of our Savior, who raises 
him fiTjm sinking in the water, when attempting to 
walk t(j meet his Master. 

Michael Angelo's " Pieta " touches the heart, as 
we see the Blessed Virgin witli her dead Son on her 
knees, a fitting introduction to the greatest Christian 
sanctuary in the world. Fyifting the padded leathern 
curtain, we noted a slab of red porphyry, on which 
the Christian emperors were crowned. Marion Craw- 
ford thus describes the entrance to the church: 

" The heavy leathern curtain falls hj- its own weipht, and 
the air is suddenly changed. A hushed, half rhythmic sound as 
of a world breathing in its sleep makes the silence alive. There 
is a blue and hazy atmospheric distance up in the cupola, a 



2 54 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

twelfth of a mile above the pavement. The Church is, in a 
manner, one of Time's great milestones. Its mere name asso- 
ciates it forever with the existence of Christianity from the 
earliest time." 

Straight up the main aisle we go to the tomb 
of the first of the apostles, the one to whom the 
Divine Founder of our Faith committed His Church. 
"Lovest thou Me? Feed My sheep, feed My lambs." 
Above the High Altar, around the dome, in letters 
six feet in length, are the words of our Savior, "Thou 
art Peter, and upon this rock I will build My Church." 
In the aisle is a statue of St. Peter, sitting, and hold- 
ing in his hand the keys, and, like all Catholics, we 
paused to kiss the foot worn by the touch of thou- 
sands. There are many tombs of the Popes, each a 
gem of art. That of St. Peter is beneath the High 
Altar, and here nearly a hundred lamps are kept burn- 
ing. At the altar Mass is read only by the Pope. 
This grand altar, under the grandest of domes, is a 
monument as nearly worthy its object as human skill, 
enthused by deepest piety, could produce. Presump- 
tuous indeed would be the pen that would attempt a 
description of this shrine, to do it justice. Christian 
Reid beautifully says: 

" Here burn the golden lamps like faithful hearts, and cluster 
the most glorious memories as well as the most sacred tradi- 
tions of failh. To this basilica, founded by Constantine, came 
pilgrims from the then uttermost parts of the earth. 



Rome — The Catacombs — Leo XIII. 255 

" There came the proud emperors of the East, Theodosius 
and Valentinian; there came Cedwalla, fair-haired King of the 
West Saxons, praying for baptism; there came Ina of Wessex, 
and Carloman of France, and many another royal pilgrim, until 
the greatest of all, Charlemagne, knelt to be crowned by Christ's 
Vicar. And there, in ihe last year ol the reign of Leo IV., 
Ethehvolf, King of the Anglo-Saxons, came also to be crowned, 
having with him his son of six years, a child who carried from 
the Apostle's tomb grace to make him blessed in his land, as 
Alfred of England." 

The mosaics are really dreams. On some of them 
twenty years of labor were consumed, being copies 
of the best masters in painting, the tiny bits of glass, 
with their exquisite colorings, reproducing the paint- 
er's art. Great and wonderful St. Peter's! And we 
saw it under such favorable auspices, in the Holy 
Year, when people of every clime on earth came to 
pay honors, called by the silvery trumpets echoing 
the voice of him who is the successor of Peter, who 
was the successor of Jesus Christ. 

We go yet to visit where St. Peter was crucified, 
" San Pietro in Montorio." Passing through the 
chapel of St. Francis, containing the tomb of Beat- 
rice Cenci and two Irish Catholics banished by Eliz- 
abeth, Plugh O'Neill and the Earl of Tyrconnel, we 
enter a court containing a sm;ill icniplc, supported on 
columns. There is a statue of the saint, and in the 
center of the floor an opening, over which a lamp is 



256 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

suspended, by which we could see the golden sand 
in which was planted the cross on which, by Nero's 
orders, St. Peter suffered, head downward. The cus- 
todian dipped up some of the sand and gave us a Httle. 
Emerging again in the open air, we paused to 
enjoy the view. The whole city lay before us, and 
we noted the places we had visited, and had pointed 
out to us many of which we had not time to visit, 
among them the Church of Ara Coeli, where an an- 
cient sybil had prophesied, "A Virgin should be a 
mother," and where the tomb of St. Helena is; San 
Andrea del Fratte, where the Jew Ratisbonne was 
miraculously converted and became a priest, and hun- 
dreds of others, to visit which and learn of their his- 
tories would require months of study. From here 
we see again the Pyramid of Cestius, behind which 
is the beautiful English cemetery, where lie William 
and "gentle Mary Howitt," who became a CathoHc. 
Of this cemetery Shelley wrote, on the occasion of 
Keats' death: "It might make one in love with death 
to be buried in so sweet a place." Poor Keats, sen- 
sitive, sad and invalid, once wrote: " I could lie down 
like a tired child and weep away the life of care which 
I have borne, and yet must bear till death, like sleep, 
might steal on me." Dying of a broken heart at 
twenty-five, he requested that his epitaph read: 
"Here lies one whose name was writ in water." Not 



Rome — The Catacombs — Leo XIII. 257 

long after his death Shelley, who had gone to wel- 
come his friend Leigh Hunt to Italy, was drowned, 
and when his body was recovered, a volume of Keats 
was found in his pocket. He was cremated, his heart 
placed here by Lord Byron, who inscribed on his 
tomb: " Cor Cordium — heart of hearts." 

At the Church of St. Agatha, in the Irish College, 
is preserved the heart of O'Connell. Although com- 
ing to Rome as tourists, we endeavored to obey the 
injunction laid on pilgrims to visit the four great 
Basilicas. This should properly be done on foot, but 
we may not be able to do this, so we drive from one 
to another. First to St. Mary Maggiore. Tradi- 
tion says this place was designated as a shrine to the 
Blessed Virgin 1)y a fall of snow on the 5th of August. 
Among the precious relics is the true crib in which 
our Savior lay in Bethlehem, recovered in the Holy 
Land by St. Helena, who encased it in silver. In 
624, to escape Mohammedan rage, it was brought to 
Rome and deposited here, where it has since been, 
covered with magnificent casing by two noble ladies. 
It is exposed for veneration on Christmas Eve. The 
mosaics here are very rich. Tlie arch over the High 
Altar commemorates the decision of the Council of 
Ephesus in 431, declaring Mary to be the Mother of 
God, and the other mosaics represent the honors due 
her as such. This churcli should be of sfreat interest 



25S Memories of a Red-Letter Siiunner. 

and very dear to Americans for the reason I shall 
name. The first gold which Columbus received in 
the new land of his discovery was duly given to Fer- 
dinand and Isabella, who in turn gave it to Pope 
Alexander VI. This he had beaten into thinnest 
leaf, and covered with it the entire ceihng of St. Mary 
Maggiore. Contemplating the beautiful paintings of 
the Madonna, I am reminded of many of the tributes 
that Protestants have paid to her, Avhose name causes 
the pious heart to thrill with joy. Hawthorne, whose 
daughter and her husband, years after, became Cath- 
olics, makes Hilda say: "A Christian girl, even a 
daughter of the Puritans, may surely pa}^ honor to 
the idea of divine Womanhood." Personally he says: 
" I have always envied the Catholics their faith in that 
sweet Virgin Mother, who stands between them and 
the Deity, intercepting something of His awful splen- 
dor, but permitting Plis love to stream upon the wor- 
shiper more intelligently to human comprehension 
through the medium of a woman's tenderness." 
Ruskin said: "There has not, probably, been an 
innocent cottage home throughout the length and 
breadth of Europe, during the whole period of 
Christianity, in which the imaged presence of the 
Madonna has not given sanctity to the humblest 
duties and sorest trials of woman; and every bright- 



Rome — 77?t' Catacowbs — Leo XIII. 259 

est and loftiest achievement of tlie arts and strength 
of manhood has been the fnlfiHment of the assured 
prophecy of the Israehte Maiden: ' He that is mighty 
has magnified me. and holy is His Name.' " 

Some years ago Viscoimt Halifax, defending rit- 
ualistic practice in the Church of England, said: 
" Shall we allow the figures of our Lord on the Cross 
and His blessed Mother to be torn down from above 
the altar of St. Paul's? We rejoiced when the Dean 
and Canons had placed them there, that as we look 
on One, we may think on all He has done for us, and 
as we look at the figure of God's dear Mother, we 
may recall her who is crowned with all glory and 
honor, and ^^■ho alone of all God's creatures has dared 
to say, 'From henceforth all generations shall call me 
blessed.' " Lord Byron wrote: 

"Ave Maria! blessed be the hour, 
The time, the chme. the spot where I so oft 
Have felt that nioment in its fullest power 
Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft! 
While swuug: the deep bell in the distant tower, 
Or the faint, dyinj? day hymn stole aloft. 
And not a breatli crrpt thron;.,di the rosy air. 
And yet the forest leaves seemed stirred witli prayer. 
Ave Maria! 'tis the hour of prayer! 
Ave Maria! 'tis tlie lionr of love! 
Ave Maria! may our spirits dare 
Look up to thine and to thy Son above! " 



26o Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

Longfellow, writing of Italy, says: 

"This is, indeed, the blessed Mary's land, 
Virgin and Mother of our dear Redeemer! 
All hearts are touched and softened at her name; 
Alike the bandit with the blood-stained hand. 
The priest, the prince, the scholar and the peasant, 
The man of deeds, the visionary dreamer, 
Pay homage to her as one ever present. 
And even as children who have much oflfended 
A too indulgent father, in great shame, 
Penitent, and yet. not daring unattended 
To go into his presence, at the gate 
Speak with their sister, and confiding wait 
Till she goes in before and intercedes." 

One verse from the beautiful poem of Sir Walter 
Scott: 

"Ave Maria! Maiden mild! 
Listen to a maiden's prayer. 
Thou canst hear, though from the wild, 
Thou canst save amid despair. 
Safe we sleep beneath thy care — 
Though banished, outcast and reviled — 
Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer; 
Mother! hear a suppliant child! 
Ave Maria! " 

These are but a few of the many such from hearts 
that instinctively feel the need of that divine Mother 
love, groping with outstretched hand, like children in 
the dark, crying, "Mother, Mother!" 



Rome — The Catacombs — Leo XIII. 261 

From here we proceed to Scala Santa, the holy 
stairs from Pilate's house in Jerusalem, brought by 
St. Helena to Rome. Up these our Blessed Savior 
toiled, and His blood sanctified them. They are pro- 
tected by a l)oard covering, and up here Catholics, 
or persons who revere holy things, ascend on their 
knees with prayers. We embraced the sacred privi- 
lege with emotions impossible to be described. 

St. John Lateran, the Cathedral Church of Rome, 
l)ears on its front the inscription, " The mother and 
head of all the churches." The name Lateran comes 
from the early owner of the land. Senator Plautius 
Lateranus. Opposing Nero, he was put to death, 
his estate seized, and when Diocletian ascended the 
throne, he gave this to his daughter Fausta, the wife 
o( Constantine. Out of gratitude for his cure of lep- 
rosy and his conversion to Christianity, Constantine 
broke the ground with his own hands, and here 
erected a basilica. The statues were of solid silver, 
the sacred vessels of gold, with precious stones. 
Karthquake and fire injured it to such an extent that 
in 1362 Urban V. restored it as it now stands. The 
mosaics are priceless; one alone was repaired by order 
of tlic Iloly Father at the cost of a million. Here 
might be cause for remark among those not of our 
conununion. as in earh' davs. "this mifjht ha\'e been 



262 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

given to the poor" ; but they do not understand that 
we desire ever to have a temple worthy of the Sacred 
Presence, which ever abides in the Catholic Church, 
and to such work have pious men and women de- 
voted their talents, genius, time and treasure, pouring 
out love and labor hke Magdalen's precious ointment. 
At St. Onofrio's Monastery, where he died, are 
preserved mementoes of the Christian poet, Tasso, 
author of " Jerusalem Delivered." Called to receive 
the laurel crown by Pope Clement VIII., he died be- 
fore the time for the ceremony, fortified by the con- 
soling Sacraments. His last words were: " Into Thy 
hands, O Lord." Recognizing his approaching dis- 
solution, he said: "Behold, the laurel crown I was to 
receive has been changed to a better one in heaven." 
On the three hundredth anniversary of his death, 
which occurred in April, 1595, literary men all over 
the world joined in spirit as well as act with the cele- 
bration in Rome in his honor. A scrap from a paper 
six years old I have just read on this event. One 
verse from his immortal work is exquisite; I almost 
hold my breath in reading it. It is this: 

" 'Tis eve; 'tis night; a holy quiet broods 
O'er the mute world; — winds, waters are at peace; 
The beasts lie crouched, amid unstirring woods, 
The fishes slumber in the sounds and seas; 
No twittering bird sings farewell from the trees. 



Rome — Tlic Catacombs — Leo XII I. 263 

Hushed is the dragon's cry, the Hon's roar; 
Beneath her gloom, a glad oblivion frees 
The heart from care, its weary labors o'er, 
Carrying divine repose and sweetness to its core." 

In the Sistine Chapel we note the " Last Judg- 
ment,"" the famed picture which Michael Angelo was 
eight years in painting. The work is magnificent, 
and by the aid of opera glasses we studied the ceil- 
ings. So on through the galleries, with their bewil- 
dering array of art, crowned by the " Transfigura- 
tion " of Raphael. Like many other seizures of 
Napoleon, it was returned to Rome after his downfall. 

The audience set by the Holy Father for the Eng- 
lish pilgrims is close at hand, and we desire admit- 
tance to the presence of Leo XIIL, the venerable 
Pontiff, whose great age and increasing infirmities 
make it ever more difficult to see him. But our visit 
to Rome would be crowned by the sight of the visible 
head of the Church; so we go to the American Col- 
lege to present oiu' letter of introduction, hoping not 
only to meet the honorable President, but to obtain 
cards of admission to the audience; but, alas! we only 
learn that he is out of the city and the time of his 
return uncertain. Our flisappointment is great, but 
we ])ray earnestly tliat some way may l)c found, and 
in this faith we look over otu" baggage for a proper 
costume. 'iMic days are passing, and as we see othoi's 



264 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

with all arrangements made, we scarcely feel that 
envy in such a case would be wrong, for it might be 
called a holy envy; but, all unknown to us, friends 
had arisen around us, and, unsolicited by us, appli- 
cations had been made in different directions, induced 
by compassion for the American ladies. So, only 
thirty minutes before the appointed hour, behold, 
tickets! Seldom have ladies made so hasty and so 
complete toilets for so rare an occasion. The car- 
riage we had ordered for a drive to another place 
served for this, and honored by the escort of a certain 
Monsignore, whose acquaintance we were so fortu- 
nate as to have made, we happily started to join the 
throng of English-speaking pilgrims. Through the 
curious streets, across the vellow Tiber, by the Castle 
of St. Angelo, we proceed up to the right colonnade 
approaching the Vatican. Alighting and passing in 
the entrance, up the long stairs and hall, and stairs 
again, the Scala Regia; the Swiss guards, in their pic- 
turesque costumes designed by Michael Angelo, rec- 
ognizing the purple silk robes of our escort and salut- 
ing him, we at last reach seats and rest, while enjoy- 
ing the sight, quite comfortable in the reflection that 
our own trailing black, with lace mantilla, is quite 
elegant and correct after such hasty preparation. To 
our American eyes all was very strange. The black. 



Rome — The Catacombs — Leo XIII. 265 

red. purple and lace-robed clergy, the different Orders 
in white or brown rol)es, the Babel of tongues — all 
combined to engage our attention during the wait 
for the arrival of His Holiness. Presently, from our 
position near the High Altar, we note, far down the 
church, a stir among the crowd. Every eye is ex- 
pectant! \- turned; a hum of voices rises into a roar: 
"Viva il Papa! \'iva il Papa!" The cry is taken 
up around us, and we see advancing a frail figure 
clothed in snowy white, borne on a throne, and sur- 
rounded by guards. The dark, speaking eyes, the 
true windows of the soul, seem starry bright; the 
emaciated form, crowned with silvery hair, is slowly 
borne, swaying, through the crowd, dispensing bene- 
dictions, and at last the chair is lowered to the ground 
in front of the altar, and the venerable Pontiff slowly 
rises and kneels on the steps for a short time, while 
the thousands of \oices take up the familiar hymns 
for the occasion. The sight was tear-compelling. 
Here at last we have the extreme privilege of seeing 
the Holy I'ather, the Vicar of Christ, the grandest 
character on earth, Leo XHI. — "Lumen in Coelo." 
Aged, feeble, his rights usurped, his very liberty re- 
strained, from the ends of the earth come loyal hearts 
to do him iKjmage. At length he rises and feebly 
ascends the altar steps, and turning, bestows the 



(12) 



266 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

Benediction, which falls on all hearts with soothing 
balm. Kneeling thus at the tomb of Peter, in the 
Jubilee year, we feel that we have indeed been blessed. 
Fifteen thousand pilgrims were thus received, and 
as Leo XIII. re-ascended his throne and was borne 
away, the cheers again rose, mingled with singing, 
and hats and handkerchiefs were frantically waved. 
One sturdy Briton by my side, with tears on his 
rugged face, seemed possessed of Stentor's voice, 
and in spite of my own enthusiasm, I was reheved 
when he carried his " Vivas " after the crowd which 
followed the receding form of him who should bear 
the title of " King of Rome." It belongs to him by 
right of conquest of this part of the country, and its 
gift to the Church by Pepin le Bref in 755, and con- 
firmed by Charlemagne. Recalling the words of 
Pope Gregory VII.: " I have loved justice and hated 
iniquity, therefore I die in exile," — Leo XIII. once 
wrote : 

" I have loved justice, therefore have I borne 
Conflict and labor, plot and biting scorn. 
Guardian of Faith, for Christ's dear sake would I 
Suffer with gladness and in prison die." 

Our visit to Rome was crowned by this day, and 
we sigh at the thought of leaving, but we expect to 
first visit the charmed fountain of Trevi, to drink the 
waters which " insure us to come again." Terribly 



Rome — TJic Catacombs — Leo XIII. 267 

fascinating" are the records of ancient Rome. What 
now avail the kixuries, fame and glory of the pagan 
emperors! Each of their rulings seemed more op- 
pressive than the last; their names were synonymous 
with cruelty or drunken folly, as witness Caligula 
bestowing" on his horse the title of Consul. In their 
vainglory they thought to suppress the new creed, 
knowing not that the blood of the martyrs was the 
seed of the Church: little thinking that in eighteen 
hundred years from all over the world would flock 
the hated Christians to reverence the successor of 
Peter, whose followers were once hunted through 
the Catacom1:)S. 

To-day rises, fair and prosperous, a college for 
instruction by a people from the then undreamed 
of Western world. Proud are we to be represented 
here! An American institute blossoming among the 
ruins of the dead past! Here may our youth l)e 
trained in the atmosphere of the early Church, the 
seeds of learning sown here to grow and blossom and 
bear fruit worthx" of the ])lanting in far away America, 
or wherever the voice of the Church may call the 
young Levite. 

Commenting on the contrast between pagan and 
Christian Rome, Cardinal Manning once wrote: "And 
now the Vicar of the Prince of Peace holds here his 
court. ruid offers, over the toml) of the apostle, the 



268 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

unbloody sacrifice of our Redemption. The legions 
of Rome have given way before a people who have 
never lifted a hand in war. They have taken the city 
of the Caesars, and hold it to this day. ' This is the 
victory which overcometh the world, our Faith.' The 
noblest spectacle on earth is an unarmed man. whom 
all the world can not bend, by fear or favor. Such a 
man is, essentially, above all worldly powers, and 
such, eminent among the inflexible, is he, the 
Pontiff." 

Cardinal Newman wrote: " I bear my testimony 
to what has been brought home to me, as a matter of 
fact, since I have been a Catholic: the Church would 
rather save the soul of one single bandit of Calabria 
or whining beggar of Palermo than draw a hundred 
lines of railroad. She has her mission, and to do it 
she will, whether she be in rags or fine linen. She 
is sent to seek the lost, and she will fulfill it. The 
Church aims not at making a show, but doing a 
work." 

A gifted young writer has paid this tribute to the 
Church. Referring to the early days of Christianity, 
he says: " She took her uncouth, barbarous enemy 
and molded him into the Christian man; of the 
haughty Gallo, blood-thirsty and revengeful, she 
made the mild and gentle saint, and by a superhuman 
power she changed the pagan Clovis into the Chris- 



Rome — The Catacombs — Leo XIII. 269 

tian King of a Christian people. Touched b}- the 
Baxen-haired youth, she sent lier teachers to the far- 
off Angles, and those that had come to concjuer car- 
ried back the spirit of peace. With the hands of toil 
she again sowed the wasted fields, and here and there 
stored up the relics of antiquity, and transcribed the 
olden writings for future generations. \\'here war 
and rapine and desolation had reigned supreme, there 
sprang forth the blossom of Christian nations." 

This was written while commenting on the sub- 
lime spectacle of the Roman Pontiff, old and feeble, 
coming to the gates of Ronie bearing only in his 
hands the cross, to meet the fierce Attila, who proudly 
boasted he was the " scourge of God and the grass 
ne\'er grew ^^■here his horse had once set foot." Ac- 
companied by one hundred and fifty thousand grim 
warriors, with champing war-horses, glinting spears 
and clanking' shields, impatient for booty, at the sight 
of Christ's Vicar. Attila and his barbarian horde 
turned back, and Rome was saved. 

But now the time has come for us to continue our 
journe}-, and I can no better define my own emotions 
on leaving Rome than by quoting the following from 
Crawford, whose writings ha\-e dealt so much with 
the Eternal City: 

" Let us part here at the- tlircsliold of St. Peter's, not say- 
ing farewell to Rome, nor taking leave without hoping to meet 



270 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

on this consecrated ground again; but since the city lies behind 
us, region beyond region; memory over memory, legend within 
legend; and because we have passed through it by steps and by 
stations, very quickly, yet not thoughtlessly nor irreverently, let 
us now go, each our way for a time, remembering some of these 
things, that we may know them better if we meet again. For 
a man can no more say a last farewell to Rome than he can take 
leave of eternity. The years move on, but she waits; the cities 
fall, but she stands; the old races of men lie dead in the track 
wherein mankind wanders always between two darknesses; yet 
Rome lives, and her changes are not from life to death as ours 
are, but from one lite to another. A man may live with Rome, 
laugh with her, dream with her, weep 'with her, die at her feet; 
but for him. who knows her, there is no good-bye, for she has 
taken the high seat of his heart and whither he goes, she is 
with him, in joy or sorrow, with wonder, longing or regret, as 
the chords of his heart were tuned by his angel in heaven." 

A sad incident occurred one day during our stay 
at the Minerva Hotel. A gentleman who was con- 
nected with the English pilgrimage, many of whom 
were stopping here, had just passed out of the dining- 
room, and stopped at the office desk to direct a 
postal-card. Without warning he fell to the floor 
and expired. The crowd who were passing through 
dropped to their knees, while a priest and physician 
hastened to him. He was past human aid, and the 
rites for the dying were hastily administered, while 
strangers knelt around him in prayers and tears. 



CHAPTER XV. 

NAPLES— VESUVIUS — CAPRI— THE BLUE GROTTO- 
POMPEII — CUSTOMS OF PEOPLE — RETURN 
THROUGH ST. GOTHARD TUNNEL — PISA 
— ^[ILAN — TO GERMANY — LAST DAYS 
ON THE CONTINENT — SAILING 
— CAPTAIN'S DINNER — FARE- 
WELL— HOME. 

Leaving Rome, we reached Naples at half-past 
one in the afternoon, and found good quarters at the 
Hotel \'esu\-e. Here we were right on the water, 
with the x'olcano in front of us. We took much in- 
terest in watclu'ng the cone, which, \'ery quiet now. 
occasionally sent u]) a ])uff of steamy looking smoke. 
We drove out tlirough the classic grounds, conscious 
of the enchantment which tra\'elers here must feel. 
" See Naples and die "" wculd he more to otu' liking 
if it read, "See Naples and live," to enjoy dail}' more 
of the loN'cly ha\- and surroundings. It seemed easy 
to transpf)rt (Mie's seh to ancient days, w hen this vicin- 
ity was the resort of the pleasure-seeking Romans. 
^Memories of Nero, C'aHgula, Tiberius and other ty- 
lauts arc plentiful. IJai.'c was a resort so beautiful 
that it was regarded a I'ai-adisc. while near by, in the 
Grotto of I\)silipo. where is the tomb of \'irgil, was 



272 Memories of a Red-l,etter Summer. 

the hell of the poets, the Lake Avernus, the grotto 
of the Sybils, where ^neas offered sacrifice. Mytho- 
logical students are here at home. Virgil, Cicero and 
Pliny hved and wrote here, and the tomb of Agrippa 
and the villa of Lticullus, or ruins, are shown. It 
Avould be impossible, in this space, to enumerate the 
places of interest in this vicinity, connected also with 
Christian associations of Saints Paul and Januarius 
and others. I have taken my New Testament and 
read, with a heretofore unknown interest, the Acts of 
the Apostles and St. Paul's Epistles. Our Savior had 
adjured St. Paul: " Be constant. As thou hast testi- 
fied of Me in Jerusalem, so must thou bear witness 
also at Rome." Later, brought before King Agrippa 
and permitted to speak, Paul, claiming the rights of 
a Roman citizen, said: "1 appeal to Caesar." His 
eloquence caused Agrippa to say: "Almost thou per- 
suadest me." Shipped to Rome, he was wrecked on 
the island of Melita, and for three months testifie(^ 
of Christ to the inhabitants and healed the sick. Con- 
tinuing to Rome, the brethren met him at the Appii 
Forum. He lived two years in his own " hired 
house," preaching the kingdom of God and teaching 
the things which concern the Lord Jesus Christ." In 
his Epistle to Timothy his words read like a familiar 
home letter: " Take Mark and bring him with thee; 
for he is profitable to me in the ministry." 



Naples — J'csui'ius — Poii'pcii — Sf. Gothard. 273 

A dri\-e around the l^eantifiil horseshoe Bay of 
Naples, with its waters as ])liie as the sky. making it 
sometimes a little doubtful where sky and AX'ater meet, 
took us through much of sc[ualor and deepest pov- 
erty, but withal we saw not, in all our sojourn in 
Italy, the land of the vine, one intoxicated person. 
1mt picturesque even in their rags. The little Bam- 
binos looked like the pappooses of the Indians, and 
the little nurses carried them around, firmly bound 
in their wrapjMngs like bun.dles, while the bal:)ies, 
placid-eyed, surveyed their surroundings, as though 
sensible a protest would be useless. I thought of our 
own happy, kicking, crowing little ones beyond the 
sea, and longed to strip the bandages and turn the 
little feet loose. When they are large enough to be 
allowed the use of their feet, they are held in leading 
strings; and I wondered if this faulty system of dress- 
ing were not accountable for the many incidents of 
dwarf legs on large bodies. The little fellows seem 
born singing, and the clear voices ringing out oper- 
atic airs seemed to us rather precocious. Nature is 
kind indeed to her children here. The soft climate, 
fertile soil, waters teeming with luscious fish, beauty 
all around them, make their nature poetic and gentle. 

Poor Italy! Groaning under taxes which rea(di 
to the humblest, poorest arlicle. no womlcr her chil- 
dren look beyond the sea for hope for e\en life itself! 



274 Memories of a Red-Letter Simiwier. 

In Naples we saw the misery of the people demon- 
strated more than anywhere else. The Lazzaroni 
have been regarded curiously, but on the authority 
of a native Italian clergyman, connected with his- 
torical societies in our own country, I will state that 
this class are the lower, called Lazzaroni from their 
patron saint, Lazarus. They work, have houses and 
families, and are contented. When they have enough 
to eat and drink and a few cents to spare to see a 
Punchinello, they seem happier than many who are 
burdened with money. The devotion of the Neapol- 
itans to St. Januarius is very great. It is here that 
the miraculous liquefaction of his blood takes place, 
a fact indisputably proven. When Vesuvius threat- 
ens, the relics of the saint ire carried in procession to 
implore his aid. 

Near by is the beautiful island of Ischia, which 
has suffered so much from volcanic eruptions. Soon 
after the terrible scenes of 1883 I met a young naval 
lieutenant, whose duties had called him to these 
waters at that time. He had been of that broad re- 
ligion which gives no special thought to eternity, but 
the thrilling scenes then and there, and the untiring 
devotion of the noble Sisters of Charity and the 
clergy in caring for the sufferers, awoke his admira- 
tion, and he reverted to it so frequently that the im- 



Naples — Vcsui'ius — Pompeii — St. Gofhard. 275 

pressions on his mind led him to inquire into and 
embrace the Faith which prompted and supported 
such heroism. 

Capri Hes across the Bay, and on the first calm 
day we boarded the little steamer which bears the 
tourist to the beautiful Grotto and its historic shores. 
Wdiere can one find a sheet of water more beautiful 
than the blue \^esuvian Bay! We enjoyed to the 
utmost the trip across, and were amused at the per- 
tinacity of the venders of corals, cameos and other 
pretty trifles. They accepted generally the price of- 
fered them, often as a joke, ridiculously low, so that 
parties were often made owners of what they cared 
little for. The minstrels, who are everywhere, also 
accompanied us on board. We regretted that two, 
with jjarticularly fine voices and dramatic gestures, 
could not come to our own country to reap the 
golden harx'est which often falls to those of less 
abilit}-. .\s we sailed out in tiie Bay, one turned with 
feeling attitude tu his listeners, and then alternately 
wax'ing his hamlkerchicf to the shores and j^ressing 
it to his eyes, sang "Adieu to Naples" — " Addio bella 
Napnli." Another fa\"oritc song was theirs, but to 
hear it at its licst il must he sung b\- them with the 
accomi)aninK'ut of mandolin, guitar and \-iolin. The 
chorus runs: 



276 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 



a^^. 



4(iyU^^^^— 



/ha^ 



'^ iLtA^t a, Sa£t^- ri - -^^ ,^>ta^.9a.- -^ 




* i V \\\ > '^ \\''' \ y Tl-f 'I I 'I y ' ^ 



^/ 6LiI>d'tfaJhblaMi^^f^ 






« 



^^^' -r-iji ^e=^ 'u u ^ 



* 



A s. 



^ 



i 



^^ 



^s 



V 

The trip to the Bkie Grotto may be made only 
when the sea is cahii, as the entrance under the rocks 
is so small. Parties have sometimes, after reaching 
there, been detained by the waves. Arriving at the 
neighborhood of the Grotto, our little steamer was 
anchored, and we were at once surrounded by small 
boats. Only two persons besides the oarsman were 




> 



Naples — Vcsiiz'ins — Pompeii — St. Gofhard. 277 

liennitted to occupy one l)oal, so F. and G. went in 
one l)oat and 1 in another. Arri\'ing at the entrance, 
we were bidden to lie down in the boats, and even 
the oar-locks were removed. A chain is attached to 
the rocks, which the l)oatman grasps, watches the 
waves, and in a moment he is hfted into the cave. 
\\'liat a fair)- land! The atmosphere and water 
were a sih'cry blue. — the walls, the gently dipping 
oars — all are an indescribable, heavenly blue. Tibe- 
rius is said to have had a secret entrance from a1)ove 
during his residence on the island, where he retired 
and built twelve palaces, living in the greatest lux- 
ury and wickedness. This monster's life is known to 
every one familiar with Roman history. The great 
precipice at one end of the island is where he cast his 
tortured victims into the sea. Emerging from the 
fairy grotto, we boarded our little vessel, returned to 
the landing, and soon we were driving up the steep 
road to the hotel, where our lunch was set out on the 
veranda, in view of the water, and our little steamer 
was anchored bclnw us. While enjoying the scene 
and an ap])etizing meal, our minstrels came up to us, 
and sang and played for our entertainment. " Tro- 
vatore " seems a favoril'-. with " Margari " for a 
change. Then lhe\- ]ila\cd " My Country, 'tis of 
Thee," and I dismis^cfl thrm. fur we did nni want to 
be made homesick. The lunch was followed bv a 



278 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

drive away up on the top of the rocks, where the 
scenery was most beautiful, and we reaHzed Bayard 
Taylor's lines: 

" Far, vague and dim the mountains swim, 
While on Vesuvius' misty brim, 
With outstretched hands the gray smoke stands, 
O'erlooking the volcanic lands. 
There Ischia smiles o'er liquid miles, 
And yonder, bluest of the Isles, 
Calm Capri waits, her sapphire gates 
Beguiling to her bright estates." 

Now we descend to the shore and board our boat, 
and while waiting for the passengers to assemble, 
watch the gambols of the boys in the water. Call- 
ing our attention with a few words of English, " Sig- 
nora bella, money, money; that's all right!" we throw 
some change to them. They go down like fish diving 
for it, and come up with it between their toes, whence 
it is quickly transferred to the mouth, and " More 
money, Signora bella." The boys take to the water 
like ducks, and their antics are very amusing. 

The shores are lined with little boats and fishing 
smacks and net menders, making a very picturesque 
scene. As the shore recedes and we turn towards 
Naples, we see clififs crowned with forts and castles — 
Castellamarre especially remarked, standing on a 
promontory. We must not stop now, for the white- 
caps are beginning to appear on the waves, and we 



Naples — J'csiii'iiis — Po}iipcii — St. Gothard. 279 

keep to our boat till we are landed again at the quay. 
A night's rest prepared us for a trip to Pompeii, 
through at first a pretty drive, and presently into a 
long street, where everybody seemed living on tlie 
sidewalks, and away out into the country-like road 
along the bay. What much attracted us was the 
manufacture of macaroni. It was hanging on poles 
to dr}- in the open air, looking like long rows of 
yellow bead curtains. I v/ondered if the festive mi- 
crobes, bacteria and all other germ-like things infest 
the air here, and if I shall ever again relish the tooth- 
some dish, after beholding these scenes. It seems in 
these countries, everything that is not served with 
tomatoes is flavored with chestnuts. These are very 
large, and served everywhere steaming hot. 

At last we reached Pompeii, and after lunch and 
rest, eagerly start out to visit the f)ld streets, now 
silent, which once resounded to the clatter of horses' 
feet and the roll of chariots, whose wheels left the ruts 
still marked. To our modern idea of space, bred by 
life in free America, where we may live without jog- 
ging our neighbors" elbows, this ancient style of al)ode 
seemed exceedingly cramped, for most of the streets 
are extremely narrow, having room but for one velii- 
clc; no yards or breathing space, even in the homes 
of the wealthy, save a little interior court. Still Pom- 
peiian life was luxurious, and we saw many evidences 



28o Memories of a Red- Letter Summer. 

of it. One house, nearl)^ excavated and well pre- 
served, had been restored sufficiently to give the vis- 
itor a good idea of the plans. Much like a Mexican 
home was this, and flowers had been planted around 
the pool, and were the only sign of life in this dead 
city, over which Vesuvius still puffs her deadly smoke, 
like a crying child which has exhausted its rage and 
grief, and still sobs convulsively at the remembrance. 
The sea once came up to the city gate, the Porto 
della Marina, but since retired. The casts of many 
bodies are seen in the local museum. Plaster has 
been poured into the cavities discovered where animal 
life has been, thus the molds preserved. Particularly 
pathetic was the story of a soldier on duty, sternly 
braving the terrors of that terrible night of the year 
79, when Vesuvius belched flame and ashes, and sur- 
prised the busy people of Pompeii in their occupa- 
tions and amusements. Bravely he stood amid that 
rain of fire, with obedience to his military duty, and 
now, nearly two thousand years later, the world ad- 
mires and praises him. Two poor prisoners were 
found confined in the stocks; the miser clutches his 
gold; the mother clasps her children; every human 
sentiment depicted. We saw loaves of bread from the 
ovens, grain, horses, dogs writhing in agony; rings, 
keys, lamps, jewelry and boxes, and tear bottles which 
were placed near cinerary urns. The great jars for 



A'Oplcs — VcsHZ'iiis — Po})if^cii — St. Gothard. 281 

water or oil. perha])s. brought back the story of the 
forty thieves with AH Rabi, Mustapha, and Morgiana. 
Stately Minerva still stands guard, broken indeed, but 
powerless to save the city. The floors in the best 
houses were curious mosaics: in one place two thou- 
sand l)its were in a square foot. The Pompeiians had 
many customs of to-day. On some of the walls we 
noted what our guide told us were advertisements 
for the theater, or the announcements for the candi- 
dates' names for offices, and " Please vote for him — 
O. V. F." Some of the caricatures remind us of 
some of our own mischievous boys' pranks with a 
piece of chalk. 

The frescoes remained bright, representing cupids 
at work, or sporting amid flowers to music, showing 
their aptitude in figures and coloring. And the baths 
seemed quite modern, with their pipes for hot and 
cold water, steam rooms and swimming pools, all 
decorated and luxurious, and were meeting places for 
gossi]) and music. At the doors would be the saluta- 
tion, " Salve." At the door of the house of Glaucus, 
the flramatic poet, is a dog in mosaic and the Latin, 
" Beware of the dog." 

At the Temple of Isis, where the oracle was con- 
sulted, is exposed, after eighteen hundred years, the 
hiding ])lace of the heathen priest who sj:)okc. The 
Amphitheater is well i)reserved. and the various tcm- 



282 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

pies to the .gods, roofless, all to the open sky. We 
pass along the deserted streets, swept and cared for 
now, and almost expect to see an old Pompeiian busy 
in his shop, so is the place peopled by ghosts of the 
dead and gone. At a street crossing is a well, the 
curb worn with the pressure of hands now dust, that 
once leaned on the stone while drinking or drawing 
the water. Great stepping-stones are at the cross- 
ings, between which wheels passed. It seems intru- 
sion to enter one of these homes and note the way of 
living. My lady's dressing table of stone still stands 
in many houses, and the pool in the center of the 
court marks where the shining waters reflected her 
charms. The altars, both public and private, gave 
insight into the pagan worship. The street of tombs 
was interesting. We passed silently through these 
records of the past and shuddered at the memory of 
that awful night. 

" Go, seek Pompeii now with pensive tread, 
Roam throitgh the silent city of the dead. 
E.^:plore each spot, where still, in ruin grand, 
Her shapeless piles a.nd towering columns stand, 
And muse in silence on a people's grave." 

A distinguished writer describes Pompeii as a 
miniature of the civilization of the age. " Within 
the narrow compass of its walls is contained a speci- 
men of every gift which luxury offered to power." 




I.v Old Pomikii. 



A^aples — Vesiivi'ts — Po)iipeii — St. Gothard. 283 

Sallust, the tragic poet, Pansa, the aedile, Diomed, 
Glaucus, what familiar names! The house of Glaucus 
has had an iron gate placed in front, through which 
one may gaze, and we fancied the feasts at which 
these other worthies sat. Think of a dish of night- 
ingales' tongues! Naturally our minds turned to 
that terril)le night when Pompeii was destroyed; and 
at the Amphitheater we see. in fancy, the crowds of 
gaily dressed people, and the gladiators, with their 
light and springy step, boldly contending in the 
arena, and breathlessly await the coming of Glaucus, 
the Athenian, falsely accused, doomed to battle with 
the hungry lion, whose instinct warned him of the 
approaching convulsion of nature. Called by the cry 
of Arbaces, the Egyptian, to the sight of Vesuvius, 
above whose top the clouds of smoke and ashes 
assumed the appearance of a pine tree, as the earth 
shook and the fiery rain began to descend ui)on the 
city, so full of gay life, we turn to flee with the 
others. "To the sea! To the sea!" And behold 
blind Nydia leading Glaucus and his beloved lone 
to safety, guided by that inner sight the blind pos- 
sess, that sixth sense. And so both escaped; but 
the elder Pliny, commanding a fleet at anchor, ap- 
proached too near in his shij) to note the ])honom- 
enon, and was killed. The younger Pliny, intent on 
saving his mother, witnessed the scene, and wrote 



284 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

thus: " By this time the murky darkness had in- 
creased so much that one might have believed him- 
self abroad in the black, moonless night, or in a cham- 
ber where all the lights have been extinguished. On 
every hand were heard the complaints of women, the 
wailing of children and the cries of men. One called 
his father, another his son, and another his wife. 
Only by their voices could they know each other. 
Many, in despair, begged that death would come and 
end their distress. Some implored the gods to suc- 
cor them, and some beheved that this night was the 
last, the eternal night, which should engulf the uni- 
verse. Even so it seemed to me, and I consoled 
myself for the coming death with the reflection, 
Behold, the world is passing away." 

Bulwer's romance graphically, but from imagina- 
tion, describes this scene, and I quote a few lines: 
"An old philosopher of the Stoic school, in long, 
loose robes, in the midst of a flying crowd, which had 
been arrested in despair and doubt, said: ' The world 
is to be destroyed by fire. Stoic and epicurean wis- 
dom have alike agreed in this prediction, and the 
hour is come!' ' Yes, the hour is come!' cried a 
loud voice, solemn but not fearful. Those around 
turned in dismay. The voice came from above them. 
It was that of Olinthus, the Christian, who, sur- 



Atopics — I'csu'c'ius — Fo»ipcii — St. Gothard. 285 

rounded by friends, stood on an abrupt eminence 
on which was a ruined temple to Apollo. Then 
again came that sudden illumination, glowing over 
the mighty multitude, awed, crouching, breathless. 
Never on earth have the faces of men seemed so hag- 
gard; never had Ijeen meetings of mortal beings so 
stamped with the horror of sublimity and dread; 
never, till the last trumpet sounds, shall such meeting 
be seen again. And above all the form of Olinthus, 
with outstretched arms and prophet brow, girt with 
the living fires. And the crowds knew the face of 
him whom they had doomed to the fangs of the 
savage beast. Then their victim, now their warner. 
Through the stillness came his ominous voice, ' The 
hour is come!' " 

At last we turn from this most fascinating spot 
and return to our carriage, past a number of beggars 
exhibiting deformities, down a beautiful walk, ])luck- 
ing here and there a llower or leaf as a memento. 
The long ride to Naples carried us over the buried 
streets of Herculaneum. The excavations have not 
made much progress here, owing to the fact that this 
city suffered from lava floods, while Pompeii wa-^ 
buried under ashes, hot water and stones. lUilwer is 
authority for this, after inspecting the strata. In his 
stor\- ot tlu' Lust l\iys of I'onipcii he saws he has res- 



286 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

urrected the skeleton of his characters as they were 
found, and reanimated them, to serve their httle time 
on the stage of the story-teller. 

Driving back to Naples, we are amused by the 
antics of little boys running beside us, turning cart- 
wheels, standing on their heads, going through gen- 
eral acrobatic exercises, and then hurrying along with 
grimy little paws extended for rewards. 

Here is to be seen the extended hand, a custom 
so annoying over the continent, although worse in 
Italy than anywhere else. Leaving a hotel, the head 
waiter brings your bill, in the payment of which you 
include a tip for him; the chambermaids stand con- 
veniently around, waiting their tip; one porter car- 
ries your baggage down to the hall, a tip; another 
takes it to the carriage, another tip; a boy or man 
opens the carriage door, a tip; a porter at the depot 
lands your luggage in your compartment, a tip; the 
drivers expect one, " buono mana," which in Ger- 
many is "Trink gelt," in France ''Pourboire," in Eng- 
land " Something for the driver, lady." Porters run 
to the arriving trains, and right welcome are they, 
for tourists go much with only hand baggage, which 
will accumulate, preferring to do Avith less amount of 
clothing than have to give so much personal atten- 
tion to heavy trunks en route. Only a few days may 



A'apies — VesuTius — Po)iipcii — St. Gothard. 287 

be spent in Naples among the contrasting wealth and 
poverty, picturesque sights, beautiful things on which 
one must determinedly turn one's back, the enchant- 
ing scenery and associations. Often shall I feel, I 
am sure, that — 

" My soul, to-day, is far away. 
Sailing the Yesuvian Bay. 
With dreamful eyes my spirit lies 
TJnder the walls of Paradise." 

Now we turn back to the north, for our passage 
is engaged from Bremen; so we pass through Rome, 
taking the railway that conveys us through tunnel 
after tunnel, on one side of us the blue Mediterranean, 
on through Pisa with its Leaning Tower. Curious 
indeed is this, one hundred and eighty feet in height, 
fourteen feet inclined out of the perpendicular. In 
the grand Cathc(h-al is the lamp whose oscillations 
inspired Galileo's ideas of the pendulum. Here in 
the Campo Santo the graves are in earth brought 
from the Holy Land over six hundred years ago. 

And now on through Milan, with its matchless 
Cathedral, which a]s(j we must leave for that hoped- 
f(jr fiUure visit. 1 am toM that over the triple door- 
way are tlie inscrijjtions: 

" .Mi thnt which pleases i^ but for a moment. 
.\\\ that which troul-les us is but for a moment. 
That only is iuiportani which is eternal." 



288 Memories of a Red-Letter Summer. 

Arriving at the entrance of St. Gothard's Tunnel, 
we apostrophize the Italy we are leaving in Byron's 
words : 

" Yet, Italy, though every other land 
Thy wr.mgs should ring, and shall, from side to side. 
Mother of Arts, as once of Arms, thy hand 
Was then our guardian and is still our guide, 
Parent of our religion, whom the wide 
Nations have knelt to for the keys of heaven. 
Europe, repentant of her parricide. 
Shall yet redeem thee, and all backward driven. 
Roll the barbarian tide and sue to be forgiven." 

Now we enter the wonderful tunnel through the 
Alps to Switzerland. What skill was required to 
engineer such work! It is nearly ten miles long, 
twenty-one feet high, twenty-six feet wide; was eight 
years in building, and cost eleven million dollars. 
Think of hundreds of men working on this great 
undertaking, thousands of feet beneath the ground, 
from opposite sides of the mountain, and meeting 
exactly. The memory of that trip will ever remain 
with us for comfort, which in European travel is not 
very common. Even in the tunnel proper there was 
not the usual stuffy, suffocating sensation, although 
we were nearly half an hour under ground. From one 
side to another our glances were directed while pass- 
ing through the mountains. It was a panorama of 
beauty, grandeur and sublimit5^ At last we reach 



Naples — Vcsiii'iiis — Pompeii — St. Gothard. 289 

Lucerne, only to rest and spend Sunday, having been 
liere before. At any rate we have no time to spare, 
and it is not so inviting here in the last of October 
as when in midsummer we visited the lovely lake. 
Xow on again, through ancient Basle and along the 
Rhine, this time by rail, greeting ''hail and farewell" 
to the charming spots we had visited before. Soon 
Cologne is reached, and here we perfect the arrange- 
ments for home travel, pa}' tieeting visits to spots 
endeared, wind up our shopping trips, and bid fare- 
well to our trunks, for here the steamship company 
takes our baggage for Bremen and the steamer's 
hold. 

A loyal German curiosity was aroused by a whis- 
per that the two fine looking lads seated at the table 
next to ourselves at the Dom Hotel, and accom- 
panied by their governors, were the second and third 
sons of the Emperor. They were in Cologne, incog., 
attending a celebration in honor of Von Moltke. a 
fine statue of whom stands on a scpiare. I say 
nothing of the curiosity of the other guests, all, of 
course, politely half concealed; our own casual 
glances revealed a pair of manl\' looking boys in 
business suits, who strolled imconcernedly about the 
reading-ror)m, a])i)arcntly enj(jying their freedom as 
would an\- oihci' lads released from restraint. Now, 
a dav at liremen. with its cosmopolitan traits, its 
(13) 



290 Memories of a Red-Letter Stmimer, 

funny street fair, its charming park and quaint 
church, and now a little more rail to Bremen Haven, 
and, behold, our good ship, like a friend from home, 
lying there awaiting us. So we mount her decks and 
hasten to our room, the same that we had on our 
voyage over; arrange our trappings in the familiar 
places, and secure the same seats at table. From the 
portly captain, in whose care we feel so safe, to the 
polite stewards, who remember us, and hasten to 
minister to our comfort, all seems homelike. Down 
through the North Sea to the coast of France our 
way was rough, but after a stop at Cherbourg and 
resumption of our trip, the waters calmed, and our 
voyage was most delightful. We touched at South- 
ampton, where we received a parcel and welcome 
letters from English friends. The passengers on a 
liner, shut up for a week in a little world of their own, 
become friends, and many a life's attachment has thus 
begun. The nights were beautiful; the full moon, 
bright above us, formed a shining path in our wake, 
and as I leaned over the guards and watched the 
golden way, I recalled every spot we had visited, and 
each happy remembrance seemed a silver milestone 
along the road, receding as we neared our native 
shores, to take up again the cares from which we 
had been for a while released. The nig-ht before our 
arrival was the usual " Captain's dinner," with its 




llAi'i'v Days o\ the Axi.amic. 



A'aplcs — I'cstiz'itis — Poiii/^cii — St. Gothard. 291 

conipliincntary extras; the fairy-like iiiarch of the 
waiters anion^- the tables when the lain])s were extin- 
guished, and only the illnniinated castles of cakes and 
creams tiiey carried in ])rocessiun gave us light. And 
the hand played the " St.'ir Spangled Banner " and 
" Mail Columbia," for now we are in American 
waters. Keluniing to the deck, we found our side 
cleared for dancing, tarpauhiis fornn'ng a ])r()tection. 
flags of all nations draping the im])rom])tu ballroom. 
electric iigiits strung along, the band in possession, 
and happy feet danced away the last hours of our stay 
on the floating palace that for a week has been our 
hcjme. Although we feel regret at leaving it, the 
sentiment of gratitude overpowers us that we are 
once more at " Hame, where we fain would be," and 
only a few hours now separate us from the deai' ones 
we left behind us, foi- what has been to us indeed 
A l\C(l-Li'Ucr Suuiuicr. 

UUvAXok Cllll,l)S MlvKllAN. 



AUG lo 1903 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



020 666 703 5 



ii i< 



